#deep down he is a walking puddle of sorrows | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

randynova · 2 years

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𝐄𝐠𝐨 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧

sᴀᴍᴜᴇʟ sᴇᴏ x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛᴇᴅ? : ʏᴇs

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𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: 𝑂𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑆𝑎𝑚𝑢𝑒𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑒 ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑢𝑝 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑔𝑛𝑎𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠.

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ(s): ᴀɴɢsᴛ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ sᴍᴜᴛ, ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ

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𝐴.𝑁.: 𝐻𝑒𝑟𝑒’𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡 @beautifulbreaddream ! 𝐻𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦 𝑖𝑡!

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When will the ego of a man be considered too grand, or too small even? Will it be when he puts his business before his beloved?

Perhaps when he sacrifices pawns left and right to reach his dream by any means necessary? Or how about when he refuses to admit he's at fault for the outcome before him? Only he knows.

But Samuel doesn’t know.

He pushed the girl he loves most aside for power, afterall. He betrayed everyone he ever befriended in his path if it meant he would succeed in the end. With a bloody concussion or a bullet to the back, Samuel did what he believed was necessary.

However, in terms of romance, he never betrayed you. Well, not in the sense he did to most.

Samuel swept you off your feet and pampered you, showing you a tender, loving side he never expressed to anyone. The member of the Workers, with his notorious stoic expression and twisted fighting spirit, surprised you with how caring and gentle he could be — but it soon melted away the more you two got closer. Every kiss had been immersed in a passionate fire the man held for you, spilling every blissful emotion that welled up within his body whenever he was by your side into each one, leaving you breathless every time. Words of sorrow and anger soon turned to ones of rapture and enchantment as you two became engrossed in conversation, his dark eyes holding nothing but warmth and fondness as he gazed at you.

In the privacy of the bedroom, it still remained the same. From the trailing calloused hands that were always on the small of your back, they were now firmly wrapped around your hips and pressed against your windpipe. The broad chest and taut arms that once protected you from the unforgiving world of crime, now pressed your knees to your chest as he folded you in-half, burying himself deep inside your cunt until he spilled load after load of his fertile seed — all while whispering sweet praises of how beautiful you looked, cooing with a smile from how well you were taking him, making sure he brought you closer to another mind-shattering orgasm with every roll of his hips. And as you gushed around him, juices running down your thighs and adding to the growing puddle of fluids, pathetically crying out for him as he continued to ram into you, Samuel never grew tired as he lost himself in your body nor did he stray from making sure you were always satisfied.

Thus, one can understand why walking away would not be so easy. It started off perfect, almost like one was in a dream, so you stayed despite how different he became later on.

Even when he began to cancel all your dates, started to miss every dinner, and soon ignored your attempts to spend time together, you stayed.

You stayed, despite his growing and consistent absence. You stayed, despite his lack of effort and distant behavior. You stayed, despite him no longer trying to hide the fact that your body is the only form of use to him, treating you no different than a common whore around the corner.

Treating you nothing more than a cocksleeve that is only good for saitiating his needs and keeping him warm at night.

You stayed, despite him no longer doing the same for you.

Every kiss in the morning became a big check on the table, signed in big bold letters 'Samuel Seo' with a small note accompanying it saying, "Buy yourself something pretty." A small way of him saying, 'Look presentable, I have a company dinner we have to attend'.

Every night you spent in his loving arms, entangling your legs together, giggling like kids, became you sleeping in a cold bed, only to wake up to an empty side. Your eyes water as you see the sheets either being fumbled or untouched, depending if your boyfriend stayed out late with his superiors or had to meet deadlines that week — so you’re told.

Every embrace became forced, his arms snaking around your waist, squeezing your sides in an attempt for him to weaken you for a brief moment, pressing chaste kisses against your neck, pulling you to into the false promise that he “would change, that he loves you”, only to lead to the man pumping his thick cock in and out your slick cunt, finishing inside but not bothering to stick around to make sure you're okay as he got a phone call for "another business meeting" he has to attend to — immediately.

Every text you sent became a pathetic mirage of you trying to talk to your beloved and wish him a good morning, being met with short replies or being left on read.

Every "I love you" became nothing more than a distant memory as Samuel was always gone, always busy, yet in the case he was home was always met with an empty expression and flat voice — "Me too…"

Everything you used to do together before he became vice-president became almost like a chore to Samuel. As if staying with you or taking care of his girlfriend was a favor.

So, the question again goes.

When will the ego of a man be considered too grand, or too small even?

Will it be when he puts his business before his beloved?

Perhaps when he sacrifices pawns left and right to reach his dream by any means necessary?

Or how about when he refuses to admit he's at fault for the outcome before him?

Only he knows.

Samuel now knows.

He knows because of his ego, he lost the only person he truly cared about in the wretched world.

He let his pride come before you and now, he holds your fading form in his arms, blood dribbling from your clothes as your body struggles to keep you alive with the silver bullets plunged in your stomach. Your head laid against his chest, weakly clutching onto his shirt as he attempted to put pressure on the wound.

For once, he didn't know what to do. He racked his brain for answers, solutions, anything — but nothing. Samuel and you were far from any hospital, any means of transportation long gone and closed, and both of you were practically alone.

Alone. Fuck. Why don't he take someone with him?! He thought.

You struggle to breathe, taking in shaky gasps of air as with every rise of your chest, a wave of new pain washed over you. Your lungs crackle as you try to keep quiet, yet you could hardly keep your eyes open, much less control your breathing. The wheezes slipping past your lips almost taunted your beloved as he shook, his gaze shifting back and forth to the gushing wound and back to your tired eyes.

"Samuel…," you whisper, trying to hold your head up as you feel yourself start to slip away. He ignored you, babbling to himself as he tried his best to stop the blood from seeping out. Once again, you call out to him, "Sam…"

Samuel shook his head fervently, deciding that the only chance to save you was to run with you in his arms. "No, no, no, please, [Name], darling, d-don't fall asleep, okay? D-Don't fall asleep, don't close your eyes on me!” He shouts, trying to stay calm as he hoists you up and holds you close, running back in the direction he came, ignoring the thick raindrops now pelting his body. “H..Help is coming, you just have to try and stay awake…!"

"But, I'm… I'm so tired… Can't I close them…?" You inhale deeply, eyes falling shut and slowly fluttering open. "Just for a bit…?"

“No, darling, not until we get to the hospital! Just…Just…” The oxygen in Samuel’s lungs began to dissipate faster than he anticipated, only further enraging him as his body began to betray him in his time of need. A choked sob left him, but his feet still pounded against the wet concrete, even as he began to struggle.

A faint laugh reached his ears and finally, Samuel looked down at you. He was met with glossy eyes and a trembling smile. “Y’know….I never thought… you would only cry when I'm like this, Samuel… Not even once did I imagine it… Not even… if we got married... " Your smile fell and you let out a sob , frowning as tears started to cascade down your cheeks. “I thought… you didn’t love–love me anymore… hah…”

"No! Please, no! Don't say that, idiot! We… We'll get married, okay? When you get better, we'll get married and have the biggest wedding Gangdong has ever seen, okay? Gonna… Gonna make you the prettiest bride ever…"

"And… and have lots of kids…," you whimper, giving a weak grin. He gives a strained laugh, nodding. "I.. I hope… we have a kid.. just like you, Samuel…"

Samuel stopped in his tracks and slowly, he crouched down. He laid your lower half on the concrete, supporting your head with his chest as your back rested against his forearm. The two of you now sat in the middle of the street, the sound of the pouring rain engulfing you two.

You continued to speak to the best of your ability, tiredly putting a hand to his face, only for it to start slipping. Quickly, he put his own hand over yours, holding it to his cheek as he attempted to feel your gentle touch as long as possible. "I hope they're kind and… sweet, like you… smart and ambitious… just like their father…,” you said quietly, head lulling. Samuel bites his bottom lip, grinding his teeth and giving your hand a tight squeeze. Your breathing became ragged, your chest hardly moving as you lost more blood. Yet, even in the face of death, you still held the same smile he fell in love with. "Perfect just like you…"

With the last bit of strength, you whisper the six words he always took for granted, driving the wedge into his heart deeper. "I.. I love you… Samuel… s-so... much. I…"

“Shh, [Name], don’t….okay? I love you too. So fucking much…. And I’m so sorry… for everything” He cries, tears learning his vision. If only he wasn’t blinded with his selfish desires, perhaps then would you be in your shared home, safe and sound.

However, Samuel would never know the alternate reality. Eyes falling shut, a smile of content stays on your face as you relax against your beloved, your arm falling limp as you take your final breath.

Time stopped in that moment as you passed and all Samuel could do was lament.

All he could do was regret every choice he made and mourn for the loss of the only girl he ever cared for — you.

With a heavy heart, he became even more malicious and twisted, drowning himself in his work, trying to forget your face, yet he could never escape. Your smile plagued his dreams and nightmares, no amount of alcohol could make him forget you, no matter how hard he tried. Samuel could never stop loving you, even in death.

The tattoos you once loved grew as he inked his skin more and more, painting his flesh with your name yet never daring to have his gaze linger on it for too long, knowing he would start to cry and fall deeper into the pool of sorrow. So on the days he did, he would be alone and drink, reminiscing of his past.

Yet, sometimes late at night, he swore he saw you in front of him, having him reach out and try to grab you, crying out your name, only for him to realize his mind was playing tricks on him.

And with his ego, Samuel knew he lost.

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©ʀᴀɴᴅʏɴᴏᴠᴀ || ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ || ɴᴏ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs, ᴇᴅɪᴛs, ᴄᴏᴘʏɪɴɢ, ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛɪɴɢ, ᴇᴛᴄ. ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴄɪʀᴄᴜᴍsᴛᴀɴᴄᴇs.

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txtmetonight · 3 months

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Francis Forever

call summary ⋆ ★ The first time you’ve unofficially officially met Choi Yeonjun was when you had hit rock bottom and flailed helplessly against the dark deep waves of the drowning ocean. And now you're sinking deeper than ever.

pairing *. * Choi Yeonjun x Fem! Reader

genre⋆ ★ Angst

warnings *. Death, Crude Language, Panic Attacks, Bad Grammar

call duration⋆ ★ 3.4k

a/n*. * Erm I'm not very satisfied with this one but whatever cause dialogue is def not my strongest suit lol...hope you guys like it tho

taglist ⋆ ★ @kflixnet//@oreoqueen // @woncheecks//@probably-too-obssessed

The Mitski Diaries Masterlist

The blearing lights of the convenience store did not do much to help your throbbing temple as you stumbled in with a hoodie and a pair of shorts. It was already nightfall, and the shining stars were sprinkled on the blanket of darkness. This was the first place you’ve ran into Choi Yeonjun unknowingly.

Grabbing the Advil and Red bull that you came here for, you stood right behind Choi Yeonjun and his bright blue hair that caught your interest for a second. You watch his delirious state help the cashier ring up his very few items before he walks out of the store. You had only caught his eye once that day.

The second time you’ve met Choi Yeonjun was by pure accident–a mistake. Failing your psychology test was purely an accident. Almost getting evicted from your apartment because you were unable to pay the rent was an accident. Losing your best friend from an illness was an accident.

Running into Choi Yeonjun with your stacks of failed papers in hand was an accident. Accidents on top of accidents continued to rot into your life, but this one was a good accident–or not you would soon later to think.

Letting the Choi Yeonjun that made his way into your life was an accident.

The third time you had encountered Choi Yeonjun, you were sure that fate had been playing her malicious cards with a sly bitten smile, on her vicious lips. Your mascara streaming down your slightly flushed cheeks, sinking into your skin as you melt into the brick wall behind you. Puddles of tears slop down along your muffled cries, the thick droplets of sorrow staining the pink blouse you wore that day.

The surroundings around you were a blur, almost like when you were seated on a carousel when you were younger, happy eyes watching the streaks of color mush into a blurry mess that made you dizzy. So, it was really no surprise that you jumped in fear when Choi Yeonjun circled his warm arms around you and that feeling of wooziness slipped away. He grounded you on that stupid fucking carousel of misery.

You cried harder finding comfort in his mellow chest, and you swear that was the last time you’ve let tears shed on yourself in such a gruesome matter–perhaps you thought.

With the nights growing darker and the morning lights blinding more than ever, you're shocked to find the wet streams land in your black attire and rather not in the hands of another that you’ve grown to love.

I don't know where to put my hands

I've been trying to lay my head down

But I'm writing this at three AM

With the nightlight on, you don’t think that you can lay your head down to slumber. A pooling of helplessness fills deep within you and you’re not sure how long it was going to take before it consumed you whole, eating you alive.

Yeonjun was your whole life. He was perfect, from head to toe, and you love him. You love him so much that it hurts. Feeling like thorns and spikes claw its way up your throat, it hurts to laugh. It hurts to talk. It hurts to cry. It hurts to feel. It hurts so much that you feel like each day you feel yourself being ripped to shreds. You think you’re on the verge of a pitfall of doom.

Every day a certain scarf is pictured to be on your neck, as if it was strangling you. On days that it was too cold for just a thin piece of fabric around your neck, onlookers ogled at the purple stained fabric in wonder–what were you doing? Yet you let them stare, Yeonjun to you was a man of remembrance, and he suffered quite much to have you be the only one to reminiscence about him–so you let others ponder about him through that scarf.

Logically illogical, you’re about to go insane, everyone knew but never had a clue when. But they would too, if all you were forced to feed on was on the scraps of the imprint of him. No not him as a person, but instead the mere shadow of Yeonjun that seeped through the cracks of your brain whenever it liked.

You wish you had met him a little earlier, given him a little more to chew into you as a person.

The day after he found you in that alley, you’ve been forced to avoid him. But you significantly remember that he was everywhere that you went. At the grocery store, in the mall, in your communication skills class, in your dreams.

And every time he had the uncanny ability to spot you but when he did, you had the skill to scurry away like a coward. You resisted and you regret it more than ever now, maybe you should’ve let him in a little sooner–a little earlier would’ve meant that you could’ve spent a bit more time with him, cherish him more.

Nevertheless, the stubborn fucker made it through your (not-so) tough defenses whether you liked it or not back then.

“I’m Choi Yeonjun and I'd to take you out for a cup of coffee...if you’re up to it.”

You don’t think your heart has ever leapt out of chest as much as it did now, but you’re hoping that the heart-attack induced scare takes your life rather than facing whoever that was.

But it doesn’t, so you’re dragged through your conscience to look up from your drawn in textbook, to meet a sharp pair of eyes that widen ever so slightly at you. “Excuse me?” You mutter, scooting a bit away from the familiar man, gasping shocks rumbling internally when he takes a step forward.

“If you want to, I’d like to take you out somewhere–anywhere you’d like.” He sighs and then pauses. “Please” The blue-haired boy adds.

“I–that’s a bit direct,” You chuckle, shutting the book shut with a tremor of your chin. You don’t know if you’re about to sob or lash out in a serious case of anxious chokes. “Please” He parrots dumbly, gulping when he starts to gather your scattered pens and pencils, which you thank him for with a small smile. “I don’t even know you.”

“Sure, you do. You ran into me with those stack of papers.” You freeze for a second and relax. “I barely even remember that.” That was a lie. He stills before laughing quietly. “Okay. I’ll get you to your front doorstep in an hour max. And wherever we go is your choice.”

Yeonjun was albeit weird, but you’re intrigued and so you turn around with the straps of your bag over your shoulder, weighing you down while you fight back a smile, walking through the various alleys of books.

He follows right behind you with a small pep in his step, still keeping a bearable distance. "I don’t know. What if you kill me or something?” He laughs at that and stops, which slows you down to a completely unmoving being.

“But I can’t even I wanted to. I’d go to jail.” He watches your shoulders shake, rumbling in silence. “Please...I don’t think I’ve ever said please to a person that many times before.” He says, eyebrows furrowing when your feet start to walk again at a faster pace.

“Where are you going, is that a yes or a no?!”

And without looking back, you shout back, “Well we’re gonna have to walk to get to whatever place we’ll be going to...no? And you choose the place, I’m a little indecisive.”

Soon enough by your side, he leads you to a coffee shop and leaves you at your doorstep in exactly fifty-six minutes, with your number in hand. And around your neck is a lilac scarf that hides your reddening flush.

I don't need the world to see

That I've been the best I can be, but

I don't think I could stand to be

Where you don't see me

By the very corner, a red booth sits in its glory. It holds about six people max, yet usually two occupy the peeling cushions. A piece of gum sticks the edge towards the window and on the bottom a very happy smiley face and a picture of a very badly sketched fox is drawn on the wood with a red pen.

On the top, packets of sugar are placed neatly in a black carton, and if you move it from its original place, you could spot two initials scratched in, exposing the sandy splinters.

Yeonjun believed that, sitting next to you was more endearing than across, because he was a man of touch. He wanted all of you, he craved your warmth and every single second not beside you were described to be feelings that mirrored the brutal actions only in hell.

So, he fixed himself to be linked arm in arm with you all times, and even while you were sipping on the drinks. He always said that he didn’t have to look at your face, as long as you were touching him in any way, he would be content and happy for the rest of his life.

You hope he’s still happy wherever he went, but you’re surely not. You’ve heard about phantom limbs before a person feels as though a missing limb was still by their side even though they had lost it through a horrific accident.

Eerie.

Yet you’re not sure what was worse. Feeling a phantom limb of Yeonjun’s who arguably was your other half, or not feeling him at all. The brush of a ghostly arm sends you through a shockwave as you jump, hiccuping down another cup of caffeine. You’ve never ever had a taste for bitter drinks, but your love insisted on his favor for them and now that’s all you gulp down.

You also trace the peeling letters, more than thrice, wincing when the wood gets between your skin. You suppose that’s what you're sobbing at recently–the pain of the blistering splinters, instead of your grieving heart at his beating love, but the others know better.

Sympathizing looks don’t go unnoticed by you, but you tend to ignore them, and it was easy when all you had to do was immerse yourself in... agony. When the waiter just told you that the cold coffee was on the house, or the old grandma gave you a distressing hug– you just must pretend to wonder why. Ho–hum.

“You’re here every single day for a month, dear. You do realize that?”

You look up and retch back a slack jaw at her words.

“I–I haven’t, I thought it’s been a few days.”

She widens her eyes, and opens her mouth to say a few words, but eventually stops herself. Then she serves you your coffee before leaving you in a deep pool of bother.

“Hey (Y/n), how are you holding up?”

When Soobin’s contact makes its way to your phone you hesitantly pull it up to your ear, but you press the answer button anyways. That night, when the devastating news had reached you, it was through a panicked call from Choi Soobin.

You distinctively recall the cracks in his voice or the blaring in the background. You could almost imagine the blue and red lights that emit much light to blind, and you could almost smell pungent smell of rust and rain.

And this time on the line with the man you could call as your brother, you’re drowned in the memories of that night that haunt you every single second of the day. You could hear the screaming in your head, and the blunt pain in your toe as you scrambled around and stubbed it.

You could feel the car keys in your hand and the driver's wheel in your fingers, steering to the hospital. Perhaps you could also taste the pure fear that coursed through your tongue, at each swipe it to at your bitten cheek and the aftermath of a bile attack that spilled on the pristine white floor.

“(Y/n)? Are you there?”

Shaking your head, you sigh into the phone, blinking back another wave of tears. You would assume you’ve cried all the liquid out of your system, but more appears when you least expect it. “Yeah, I’m here. And I’ve been fine...or maybe near it? I dunno. How are you and the boys?”

It goes silent and suddenly, you're met with sniffling that has you reciprocating with big fat globs. “Us too, I guess. I j–just can’t believe it, I don’t know how to come to reality with anything anymore. Beomgyu doesn’t even talk to me, Huening is fucking quiet all the time, and Taehyun keeps coming back dead at night, sobbing.” He weeps. You finally close your eyes and hit the sofa. “I’m so sorry” You say.

“And I’m so sorry too. I actually don’t know why I even called. I won’t bother you anymore.” Soobin mutters and you desperately want to tell him that he’s not bothering you, and to please stay, but you don’t. You instead say, “Ok, sure. Please don’t ever contact me again.” You meant the last part as a joke and you’re sure that the man on the other side knows that, yet he cuts the line as soon as your last word hits the receiver.

And just like that, you’re back to your pitiful desolation. To tell the truth, you’re envious. You’re starting to get pissed. With Yeonjun gone...you don’t have anyone on your side. Soobin has the boys, and he says that you do too, but you both know that isn’t true. Without your lover, you’ve succumbed to loneliness of yourself. You will forever live in vain alongside your life with a nasty ring on your finger and the comfort of your brutal tears.

On sunny days I go out walking

I end up on a tree-lined street

I look up at the gaps of sunlight

I miss you more than anything

“You’re perhaps the most stunning woman, I’d ever seen in my life” Yeonjun mutters against the expanse of your skin, nuzzling into your warmth as you both lay under a cherry blossom tree. You bite back and smile and flush against the bark of the tree. “That was out of no-where. What’s wrong?”

He twists a little and makes an effort to stare into your eyes–which to him wasn’t too hard, not when your eyes pooled the depths of heavens themselves, and all the beautiful things it beheld. Not when they twinkled like bright stars and Yeonjun internally promised to map out each and every gleam himself.

“Nothing much. Just making some very obvious observations. Did you know that you’re also so very very kind, and fucking gorgeous, and cook up some mean meals, maybe a little stubborn, oh and that you’re my lucky charm of a girlfriend?” He snickers, grabbing your hands to land a small kiss on your ring finger, the pads of your skin, burning against his blood-red lips.

The sunlight beams at the gesture and opens up its lovely rays for the world to share, especially for the two lovers that sit side-by side; one blushing ferociously and the other just admiring.

“Well–er–did you know that you’re the most handsome man I’d ever seen in my entire and probably ever will, that you’re so exquisite that sometimes it makes me want to puke, that you have the most loving voice anyone would be pleased to here, the same one I believe that could perfectly sing my heart’s tune to where it yearns out for you, oh and that you’re my stupidly bitchy but exquisite boyfriend?”

He scoffs at the last part but turns shy at your giggles and so he pulls at your cheeks, unable to keep himself from kissing them. Meeting you was the most wonderful thing that happened to him, and he plans to keep you around forever–if you’d let him.

It goes a little silent for a while.

Then Yeonjun coughs and subtly moves closer, your palm lain across his thigh where he’s kept it from earlier, his own fingers wrapping them against yours. “Did–did you know that you may soon be my fiancé?” Yeonjun murmurs. He watches your lips quiver for a second as you try to comprehend his words.

“I wonder how soon?” You whisper and suddenly you go quiet as you watch him stumble with his arms, clumsily pulling something out of his pocket–a ruby red box that glitters spectacularly. “Holy fuck, I–” You choke, and he just laughs at you before sincerely gazing at you. “(Y/n) I know that this isn’t the most romantic thing, and I’ll make it up, I swear! But will you marr–”

You cut him off and kiss him. You’re crying you both notice and the salty tears stream down your face, but you don’t stop them as you pull back from the lack of oxygen, heavily panting. “I–what the hell, of course I’ll marry you” You cry, and he starts to bawl as well, grasping the ring from the box so he can slip it on your finger, the same one he just put up to his mouth to smooch.

“I love you much” It was just a huge mess of blubbering tears and wailing voices but you both tackle each other to the ground, embracing one another as though it was just you two left in the damned world.

Yeonjun’s favorite trees were always the ones with the most flowers that smelt alluring because they always reminded him of you–so his first choice was a cherry blossom tree. The petals were always so magical...and they still are from the way that the branches bow down to you in grief and pity.

You take it that they also miss the same person as you, and you can’t blame them. This is the first time you’ve been here since his demise. You’re so used to the never-ending tears that you can’t even tell if you’re crying or not anymore.

Eyes scouring the ground below you, your eyes widen as a very familiar rock sticks out from the dirt, right near your shoe. You kick at it ferociously ignoring the ache that travels up your foot, but it's all worth it when the sight of purple paint flips around, contrasting it's dull background.

Feb 10...the new valentine's day! Y.J & the love of his life

Today was supposed to be your fifth anniversary–just a few days before Valentine's Day when he was too impatient to confess to you on the day itself, though he had it all planned out for months on end. He was just too sweet you suppose.

"I didn't forget, by the way Junnie. Happy Anniversary, I–I have a gift for you, yeah?" You mumble.

Your hands touch the bark and watch the little ants that scurry the ground. Your lips exhale a loud sigh before you lean down and pat the soil beneath you, nails digging into the rich brown mud. A stray eyelash irritates your skin so with the unsoiled part of your hands you wipe it on to your palm.

Taking a second you close your eyes and wish, ‘for wherever my sweet Yeonjun is, I hope him to be a cherry blossom tree in his next life, how much ever dumb it sounds’. And then you blow and grab a ring from your breast pocket. The gold band is lovely, and it was your lover’s, the one he wore on his own ring finger.

And before you have any more regrets, you place the jewel in the small hole and cover it up once more. With a piece of your heart gone with Yeonjun’s flatline, another had just been buried along with the ring; and you wonder how much of it you have left to spare.

Happy Fake slash Non-fake Valentine's day.

I don't need the world to see

That I've been the best I can be, but

I don't think I could stand to be

Where you don't see me

You stand in the heavy pouring rain staring at the sky. And you’re praying that the dusky clouds clear up; for the reason that Yeonjun might not have a clear view of the world below and maybe you.

You itch to feel his comforting gaze on you or else you just might not make it through. It’s been a while you think since all the saddening phrases said by others have eased up. The spring season has evolved into a daze of heat and the summer warmth made you feel dizzy.

But now fall is throwing itself out in the air. The sugary scent of apple pie wafts in and out of a nearby bakery. The wet-colored leaves underneath your feet serve as a reminder.

And so, the rest of the boys have been arriving at your door with freshly made pumpkin wine to share as you five bond over an early shitty Christmas movie. You started to cry when the dog passed away in the film and another four pairs of eyes chuckled at your sobs. Beomgyu supplies his comfort, but you’d rather have your lover, fiancé, and the boy too good for this world and for you.

You just want Yeonjun back.

Meeting and letting Choi Yeonjun become yours was truly an accident–but it’s safe to say that all the years you molded with him weren’t ever regretted.

And autumn comes when you're not yet done

With the summer passing by, but

I don't think I could stand to be

Where you don't see me

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theewokingdead · 1 year

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Chapter One - Timing is Everything (Benny x f!Reader)

Pairing: Benny Miller x f!Reader Summary: Living in Colorado, Benny struggles to deal with what happened in Colombia. A chance encounter starts to change his life - and yours. Word Count: 2.5k+ Rating: Explicit 18+ (for eventual smut in future chapters) Content: Language, PTSD, broody Benny. A/N: This series has been floating in my head since December. I can't listen to Garrett Hedlund's music without thinking about it. As always, thanks to @icanbeyourjedi and @musings-of-a-rose for offering some suggestions and encouraging me to write this. Please follow and turn on notifications for @theewokingdeadwrites to know when I update.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Benny never used to hate the rain.

As a child, he loved donning his green rubber boots and matching raincoat to jump in the puddles. He loved wrestling in the mud with his brother, Will; the constant losses he endured in his younger years fueled his growth into a young man who could complete against someone older and bigger. He loved fishing with his dad in the drizzle, the drops knocking gnats and other various bugs into the water, giving the fish a good meal and making them easier to catch. Most of all, he loved when it signaled that spring, and soon after summer, was on its way.

As an adult, Benny continued to find comfort and joy in the rain, even while crawling in the mud and running laps or completing missions in the pouring rain. The storms that frightened others made him feel energized – alive. He always longed for home, and the rain kept him close to it, the smell in the air always the same no matter where he was.

Benny loved the rain. Loved. The mission in Colombia changed everything.

Despite his intentions of making a fresh start in Colorado, as the cold rain beats against him, memories of Colombia flood his mind. It’s all so clear. The drops drenching his body as they stalked Lorea’s compound, his gloved hands gripping the gun he prayed he wouldn’t have to use. The way his wet clothes clung to him when he walked in the room to see Will injured on the floor, fearing the worst for just a moment before swallowing all emotion to focus on getting his brother – brothers - to safety. The chill in his bone as he shivered under the rock on the mountain, trying to focus on listening to the droplets as they hit the leaves, but only hearing the terrified cries of the innocent children on the cocaine farm, the sorrowful screams of their elders.

“You’re a good man, Benny,” Will had said to him. Yet hours later, he was quick to blame him for Tom's death, the fire he demanded they light to keep warm leading the vengeful villagers right to them. Santi denied that it was anyone’s fault, but Benny knows, deep down, that he is the reason for the folded flag on the living room shelf of the Davis’ home.

The smell of freshly roasted espresso permeates his nostrils, bringing him back to the present. Desperate to find refuge from the downpour, his feet carried him into a little coffee shop. Rain drips from the bill of his hat and his body trembles with cold. He sweeps the hat off his head and lightly shakes the water off, giving the room a quick glimpse of his golden hair.

Benny looks around, seeing the shop is small and warm. Large, plush couches fill the front, the small tables between them covered with books and board games. Wood and metal barstools line the length of the counter, where a single barista is smiling at him.

“Hello!” the barista greets, her liveliness a stark contrast to the dreary day outside. “What can I get started for you?”

Benny isn’t sure what to order. He’s not much of a coffee drinker and isn’t in the mood to venture trying one of those fancy coffees everyone seems to rave about.

“I’ll, uh…” He glances up at the menu for a moment before looking back at the barista, her smile friendly, warm, and patient. “I’ll have a small dark roast, please.”

“Cream or sugar?”

“Neither, thanks,” Benny replies. In his mind, there’s a joke about how he likes his coffee like his soul: dark and bitter. But she’s probably heard it a million times, and, truth be told, he’s not really in a joking mood.

“Anything else? We have all sorts of baked goods. Croissants, bagels, cake pops…”

“Uhh…” He briefly examines the glass case, not wanting to disappoint the barista by saying no. “How about a cookie? Chocolate chip?”

“Not much of a risk taker, are you?” she playfully jests, reaching into the case to pull out a large, gooey cookie. She places it in a small paper bag then slides it across the counter toward him, adding with a wink, “Good choice.”

After paying for his order, Benny turns to find a spot to sit, choosing one of the small tables lining the far wall of the shop. Taking a sip of his coffee, he catches a glance at his surroundings. The rain seems to have kept customers at bay, the shop surprisingly empty for the time of day. There are only a few people here, working away on laptops or reading from textbooks and notebooks scattered in front of them, clearly students from the university down the street.

Benny envies them - they have their whole lives ahead of them, not yet spoiled by the brutalities of the world. He was their age when life brutally taught him just how fragile it can be – too fucking young to know it. Too young to be tricked into fighting someone else’s war, to watch the soldiers – his friends – get blown to bits.

He evaded far too many close calls, and every single time he was asked the same question: How’d you get so lucky?

Lucky. The word always made Benny internally scoff. Is it really lucky to be in the right place at the wrong time? Is it lucky to be the one left behind to wonder why it was them and not him?

Guess it wasn’t my time, he’d always reply with a shrug and a grin, always using his boyish charm and sense of humor to mask the pain within, not letting anyone see that he was constantly wondering Why?

Cradling his coffee with both hands, Benny watches the steam rise out of the cup and into the air, lost in thought. He thinks of his eighteenth birthday, of the phone call with Will when he told him his plan to enlist. Stay where you belong, Will had said, all but begging him not to follow him into the military. But Benny’s mind was made up and he was too bullheaded to listen. I go where you go, Will.

He can’t help but wonder where he’d be in life had he listened to his brother just the one damn time. Things wouldn’t necessarily be better, just different. Different than the hell he’s been living the last three and a half years, brought on by the mental war he fights inside himself nearly every damn day.

As it always does when he gets too deep in thought, Benny’s mind spirals, a series of what-its seeping in and taking over. Emotions flare from the dormant images that flash in his brain. Benny feels himself slipping into the abyss, spiraling back in time toa nother place, and he knows he has to ground himself.

Rising to his feet, he moves to the counter. “Excuse me, ma’am… Do you have a pen I can borrow?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure,” the barista replies with a smile, finding a pen near the register and holding it out for him to take. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

In the months since he returned to Colorado, the past has increasingly creeped into his mind, his thoughts harder to contain than ever before. He never knows what the catalyst will be – the blood oozing from an injured animal, a gunshot ringing in the distance, the backfire of his father’s old farm truck, the rumble of thunder, even the smell of fresh paint. He feels like a fucking child again, always afraid – except now it’s not the boogeyman lurking around the corner, but his past.

Though work around the farm keeps him physically exhausted, it doesn’t help him move through his feelings the way fighting used to. Fighting required him to be completely present and focused, forcing him to learn how to quiet the negative and judgmental voices in his head. It allowed him to forget his problems – at least temporarily. Benny had to find a new outlet, and it quickly became writing.

He keeps a journal tucked under his mattress, his old hiding spot for Playboys that Will used to sneak him now a safe space for all his deepest, darkest thoughts. His English teachers always commended him in school for his writing, but it was never something he cared to pursue, staying away from what others boys deemed “sissy shit.” But now it’s the only thing that helps him make sense of his emotions and ease his pain; the only thing that helps him communicate what he’s feeling – even if it’s only the four walls of his bedroom that hears the lyrics he wrote as he strums on his old guitar.

Benny doesn’t know how long he sits there, pouring his soul onto white coffee shop napkins. He purges the words from his brain, bold black ink furiously spewing the thoughts that poison him. The more the pen moves, the freer he feels. He doesn’t stop, writing until his fingers are numb, his hand cramping.

After filling two napkins with his thoughts and ideas, Benny stops to peruse what he wrote, circling and making notes near keywords before moving onto a third napkin to create some sort of order out of the chaos. He jots down lyrics, crossing out wrong words and replacing them with ones that seem to fit better. It pours out easily at first, a couple verses about luck and fate and how they’re bullshit – put in less harsh words.

But he loses steam as quickly as it had come, finding it hard to get the words to rhyme or flow properly, not even able to find the right words. Just about everything feels off; it just doesn’t work. He’s not even sure what direction, if any, the song is headed in. Maybe that’s the problem: it lacks direction.

Sighing in frustration, Benny sets the pen down and checks the watch on his wrist.

“Shit,” he utters, realizing he stayed too long at the coffee shop. Now he’ll need to hurry to his appointment at the Driver’s License Office – something he’s already put off for far too long. Something about updating his license makes it all feel final, like there’s no going back to Tampa or his life as an MMA fighter. It should make him excited to close that chapter, but he has no idea what the next chapter holds. For the first time in his life, that scares him.

After scrambling to gather his things, he sets the borrowed pen down on the counter and hastily thanks the barista once more while quickly walking the remaining distance to the door. Using his shoulder to nudge the door open, he stops to peer out at the rain, drops beating heavily on the awning above him. Before taking another step, he hears a voice, which causes him to pause.

“Wait! Wait!”

Benny’s head snaps in the direction of the noise, his eyes locking on a figure running through the sheets of rain in his direction. He’s confused, watching as the figure emerges from the gloom and stops after reaching the safety of the awning. He sees that you have one arm tucked into the front of your coat, the other stretching the material to keep whatever you appear to be smuggling safe.

“Thank you!” you say breathlessly, knowing you would have struggled to open the door if he hadn’t come out at the right time. “Thank you so much, uh-”

“Benny,” he replies, a hint of confusion in his voice as he stares at you, water dripping from your clothes and nose.

“Benny,” you repeat, flipping a piece of wet hair out of your face, revealing a pair of the most beautiful eyes, a mix of colors that make him want to look closer. The face surrounding those remarkable eyes is just as stunning.

Letting your coat out of your clutch, you remove your arm, revealing a stack of papers in your hand.

“Would you like one?” you question, offering him a flyer. “Hot off the press, and, somehow, perfectly dry.”

“Thanks,” Benny says, accepting the paper with his free hand, looking down at it with confusion. “I’ll, uh… I’ll do my best to keep it that way.”

“Be ready for a very thorough inspection the next time I see you,” you tease in a serious tone.

“Yes, ma’am,” Benny replies, which forces your mouth to twist into a smile, small but pretty enough to bring a man to his knees. Benny would do anything to never see it leave your face. “I hope I don’t disappoint.”

You softly stare up at his bright blue eyes, eyes that draw you in and seem to hold you captive. A flush creeps up on to your cheeks, ashamed of the scenarios your dirty mind instantly conjured up. Just the sound of those two simple words sends blood pumping to your core. Are you really so sex deprived that you’re thinking about a stranger attending to your needs? You curl your lips inward and gently bite down while dropping your eyes to the ground, hoping he doesn’t notice how flustered you’ve become.

“Well… Thanks again, Benny. Hope to see you again soon.”

Benny’s gaze follows you as you cross the threshold into the shop, watching as you walk up to the counter and drop the papers. Then, he turns and looks out into the rain, trying to processes what just happened, missing the glance you give over your shoulder. A soft smile on his face, he runs into rain. Somehow, the drops feel warmer than they did earlier that day.

As he walks into the driver's license building, he mindlessly hums the melody of a song that he’s not yet written.

After dropping the stack of freshly printed flyers on the counter, you disappear into the back of the shop to change into fresh clothes that you keep tucked away – you lost count of how many spills and other various mishaps happened before you learned your lesson to keep spares on hand.

Once you reemerge, you immediately get to work, using the lull in customers to tidy up the space. Bending down to pick up a discarded napkin on the floor near the tables lining the far wall, you see that it’s just than just garbage. It’s filled with handwritten notes, the handwriting beautiful, neat, and unique, almost like a font. The first letter of each word and every ‘A’ is capitalized. The words themselves are just as beautiful, the lines seeming to read like a poem – or maybe a song? A few words are crossed out and replaced with another, arrows drawn to indicate that parts should be moved, but you comprehend what’s intended.

I’ve had close calls

When it could’ve been me

I was young when I learned just how fragile life can be

I lost friends of mine

I guess it wasn’t my time

When you look up, wondering who could’ve written something so beautiful, tears swim in your eyes. Even though you don't know the author, it feels like you’ve peeked directly into their soul, and for some unknown reason, you feel compelled to share your own in return.

#benny miller #benjamin miller #benjamin benny miller #benny miller x you #benny miller x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fan fiction #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fic #garrett hedlund #garrett hedlund x you #garrett hedlund x reader #garrett hedlund characters #garrett hedlund fanfiction #timing is everything series #catie writes

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yoseinoame · 1 year

Text

Gruvia Week 2023 Day 1:

REFLECTION

Drip drip drop.

The familiar sound of raindrops hitting the ground made Juvia frown as she slowly woke from her comfortable slumber. From the soft sound coming from the slightly opened window, she could tell that it was not yet pouring hard outside but the drizzle was gradually turning into a steady rain.

Leisurely, Juvia opened her eyes. The sight that greeted her deliberately made her smile. Her right hand automatically lifted to caress the face of the man sleeping beside her and her gentle touch made his brows twitch, but he didn’t stir.

Thinking that her touch and the sound of the rain might disturb her beloved’s sleep, the blue-haired mage carefully withdrew her hand as she gently free herself from the arms that were holding her and keeping her warm on that rather cold morning. She bit down a giggle when she heard the man groan in protest when she successfully got off the bed.

Juvia randomly picked up the discarded shirt at the foot of the bed and lazily put it on as she walked towards the window, completely oblivious of the dark sleepy eyes that followed her every move the moment she left the bed.

Her plan was to properly close the window and go back to sleep. But when she saw the scene outside and her gaze landed on the ground where she could see the rainwater rapidly making puddles, she could not help to pause and watch.

In the past, Juvia hated the rain.

In her mind, it brought her nothing but sorrow.

The people around her disliked and avoided her because of the gloom that surrounded her and the rain that always followed her. She grew up under scrutiny and hate because wherever she went, there was always rain. But watching the raindrops hit the ground and listening to its sound, Juvia could no longer feel the sorrow in her heart.

But those were all behind her.

She’s no longer the Rain Woman.

Her gaze shifted from the puddles to the windowpane where she could see herself, her blue eyes staring back at her. A serene smile lifted the sides of her lips.

The woman she could see reflected in the glass no longer has loneliness in her eyes. All that she could see is a woman happily smiling back at her.

Suddenly, she felt a pair of strong arms circling around her waist and a set of deep, dark eyes tenderly looked at her through their reflections on the glass. Her smile widened as she leaned back and relished in the warmth of his embrace.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a hoarse voice that made her body tingle.

“Hmmm,” she hummed nodding her head. Her fingers started to slowly caress his arms and she could feel his muscles reacting to her touch. “Did Juvia wake you up, Gray-sama?”

Hearing her sweet voice and not detecting any sadness from her, Gray’s worry subsided a little. He was just watching her when she left the bed but when she stopped to watch the rain, he got a little anxious thinking that the weather made her upset.

“Not really,” he replied. He was already awake when she caressed his face. He was just pretending to sleep and was waiting for what else Juvia would do. “Are you bothered by the rain?” he asked again as he bend down his head and started planting soft kisses on her shoulder that made her bite her lip.

“N-o! Gray-sama!” she gasped when Gray suddenly licked her pale skin and his hands started to wander. She knew what he was doing. The ice mage was probably thinking that the rain was reminding her of the past and he was trying to distract her thoughts.

Juvia caught Gray’s hands and intertwined their fingers. “Gray-sama, Juvia is fine,” she said trying to control her breathing before turning around to face him. “Juvia is just watching the rain.”

“Why?” he frowned. Gray knew how much Juvia disliked the rain. He knew that half of her life was tormented because of it, and he had never seen her enjoy such weather before.

“Juvia never really liked the rain before. And just now, it looked so peaceful. When Juvia watched the water hitting the ground, it didn’t feel sad,” she explained while looking into his eyes seriously. In her eyes, he could clearly see tenderness and joy. It’s very different from the first time he saw her.

“Gray-sama, the rain never felt like that before. It was always sad and gloomy. But now, it’s different. Ever since you stopped the rain, it never felt so sad anymore and now Juvia can watch the rain without the pain in her heart. Juvia is really thankful to you. You didn’t just show Juvia the sun, but you also helped Juvia slowly appreciate the rain.”

Gray smiled as he cupped Juvia’s face in his hands. “I’m glad that you feel that way,” he gently said. “But you don’t need to thank me. That time I was just doing my best to stop you,” he chuckled as memories of their first meeting flashed in his mind before he captured Juvia’s lips for a quick kiss. “If there’s anyone who should be grateful, that’s me,” he added planting another kiss on the side of her lips. His hands found their way on the water mage’s spine as they slowly moved down her butt and effortlessly he lifted her up on the windowsill. “When you came into my life you brought along the warmth that I’d been seeking all my life.”

For a moment, Juvia was speechless and was just staring at Gray. The ice mage was never one to talk too much about what he felt. Though Juvia knew how much Gray feels about her, she never really expected him to say much about it. It’s just how he is and she’s already happy to know that she’s in his heart. But hearing him say those words filled her heart with so much happiness. Her eyes moistened as she tried to stop her happy tears from falling.

“Gray-sama,” she softly called out.

“Hmm?” Gray was looking at her affectionately and the love reflected in his eyes mirrored her own feelings for him.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Gray chuckled again when he saw the tear that fell on her cheek before kissing it away. “We both know that I love you too, so why are you crying?” he teased as he playfully pinched her cheek. Juvia pouted and it only made Gray laugh even more before he kissed her again. This time it was the kind of kiss that demanded a response and in no time Juvia was kissing him back enthusiastically.

“I love you,” Gray panted in between their kisses before carrying Juvia back to bed.

Outside, the rain was still pouring but the rhythm each raindrop made was like music for them as their hearts danced together in love.

#gruvia week 2023 #gruvia week #juvia lockser #gray fullbuster #gruvia week 2023 reflection #fairy tail #gruvia fanfic

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julemmaes · 11 months

Text

prologue from a nessian fic I'll never write, enjoy:) fair warning I wrote this while listening to my tears ricochet the long pond studio session on repeat

Word count: ~1.3k

The silence was gripping her lungs in a tight vice and she couldn't get any air in. Panic was seizing her entire body as she tried not to turn around and bolt for the exit. It was taking her every ounce of will to stay put, let them stare—let them judge.

Nesta could feel their emotions, every single drop of hatred and confusion and disappointment. Feyre was looking at her with tears in her eyes, a hand on Rhysand's chair for support, and Elain had stopped serving Lucien, her casserole completely forgotten now. She didn't dare look at Morrigan, or Amren. She knew she wouldn't be able to endure the disgust surely directed at her.

She found the courage to shift her gaze to Azriel, to the one person she'd once trusted wholeheartedly, the best friend who had seen every facet of her heart and mind and had never judged her for it. The only one who Nesta had promised not to hurt. And the only one who had tried to reach out to her every year, in the desperate hope she would one day pick up the phone, reply to a text, come back home.

She had thought she was ready. Her therapist had deemed her current situation perfect to reunite with the family she had abandoned years prior. But now, after having walked in with the same set of keys her brother-in-law had given her, during their weekly family lunch, seemed like the worst course of action she'd ever followed.

Azriel had his eyes closed, his head turned towards the backyard, like he couldn't bear to look at her. Nesta could see his jaw taunt with restraint, his shoulders tense.

She had hurt him.

She deserved his silence.

She was about to open her mouth, thinking she at least owed to these people to start this conversation, when the loud, heavy steps of someone coming up the basement snatched her every thought.

Nesta would recognize his gait everywhere. She knew he was skipping two steps at a time. She knew he was gripping the handrail with his right hand and pulling himself up just for fun.

She knew he would willingly slam his shoulder against the door frame coming out of the cellar and stumble down the corridor to enter the living room with a weak jog.

A shit-eating grin would be plastered on his face and her heart would stop.

Even without a single sense, she would have been able to know it was him. They could take her hearing, her sight, her touch... she would know.

He...

"Found it!" He shouted, then the muffled grunt as he hit the door. A deep chuckle that ran cold through her veins and the hurried steps, and there he was.

He looked so different. And the same. He looked exactly like the man whose heart she'd broken all those years before.

"Jeez, Rhys-babe, this bitch was hidden behind a gazillion other bottles, I had to move mountains to get to it."

From her position near the entrance, he was giving his back to her. He was still oblivious to her presence when he lifted his head and stopped in his tracks at the sorrow and shock on the others' faces.

"What–"

Cassian turned then, noticing everyone was looking behind him, and he stopped breathing.

Nesta stopped breathing.

The bottle he was holding dropped to the floor with an ear piercing crack that made her wince. Nobody moved to clean the expanding puddle of red wine.

Her heart stopped beating, pumping blood, keeping her alive. She was dead. She was sure of it. She was no longer standing there, in front of her family. In front of the man who still had her very soul wrapped around his fingers, even after all this time.

The emotions swirling behind his eyes as his face transformed threatened to bring her to her knees. The utter rage and torment that she knew were storming his mind were enough to make tears sting her eyes, for her throat to swell.

His agony was excruciating. It was suffocating her.

She opened her mouth and only a trembling sigh came out. The only sorry excuse of a greeting her body was willing to grant her.

Cassian blinked, his hand still suspended between them and then he took a sharp breath in. He turned his head to the side, ground his teeth so hard she worried he might break some and looked back at her.

Their eyes clashed together, she felt—for the first time in almost six years—her soul soar, reaching out to touch his. It was like she could see it, the weak, shaking fingers of her essence holding out to his, begging for him to extend any part of him he could.

She needed him to say something. Anything. Put her out of her own misery. She needed him–

"Leave. Get out."

His eyes never left hers as he whispered those words. They sliced through her chest like a sword, every letter cutting deeper than the previous. She was bleeding out on the floor in front of him.

And she deserved every tickle of blood leaving her body in racking slowness. She was desperate for it. She needed the coup de grace to come from him.

She forced herself to stay still, but couldn't bring her chin to lift like she wanted to. Couldn't make her mouthtonguelips move to speak.

Cassian stepped forward suddenly and her chest heaved. They hadn't been so close in so long. So long since she'd last felt his heat like this.

"I said get the fuck out." He ground, a single, lone tear cutting down his cheek. He did nothing to hide it.

Nesta's chin trembled and she gave the slightest nod. She made to step back, her eyes fixed on his hurt face.

I'm sorry.

She let him see it, the apology in them. She begged him to read her like he used to their entire lives.

And he did. Nesta waited for him to do anything with it, tell her it meant nothing. He took her apology and tossed it right back at her face. It now laid on the floor, crumbled at their feet.

It hit her hard then, this had been a mistake. What was she thinking? Showing up uninvited to Feyre's and Rhysand's home, after what she'd done to them?

She cleared her throat and lost the battle, lowering her gaze to his chest. Her eyes narrowed on the tiny outline under his shirt, something that was attached to the necklace he was wearing, hiding right above his breastbone. That pendant, its shape–

Cassian moved brusquely to the side, putting more than two meters of distance between them.

She felt the cold embrace of loneliness sweep her again in its arms. It felt so familiar she didn't even question the throbbing in her chest.

She spared herself the looks of disgust from the rest of the people present and walked to the door, fighting all her instincts screaming at her to go back and implore for forgiveness. Beg for a few minutes of his time to explain.

The sound of a chair scraping on the tiles, followed by another. The shuffle of clothes and cutlery against plates.

"Nesta, wait."

She halted with her hand closed on the door handle.

Azriel.

Oh god how she'd missed him. His voice.

She had missed them all.

"Fuck, no," Cassian's voice came out so angry it startled her as she turned again toward the room. Now both Azriel and Rhysand were standing. Cassian was looking at them, his shoulder raising and falling with his effort to keep calm. When he spun in her direction, his eyes were red, rimmed with tears.

He shook his head, pointing to the door. He averted his gaze, he said, "I don't want you here. So leave. I don't care what Azriel wants to tell you."

"Cass," someone pleaded softly.

Elain. Oh, Elain.

Nesta kept her eyes fixed on Cassian's breaking figure.

"Leave. Please, Nesta, leave."

His voice cracked, her heart shattered.

Nesta tore the door open and slowly walked outside.

She was an empty shell of her persona yet again, hollowed out and bleeding to death on the cobblestone path of that house that had once been her only safe place.

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#nessian #angst #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #the angsty bitch is back

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me-uglypretty · 2 years

Text

letters to your lover

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x F!Reader

Summary: Letters to a dear friend, promises made with part of each other to safe-keep, and the bloody secrets only known to two.

Warning: 18+ (G), au, kinda cult-ish wanda and reader, blood, killing, dead bodies, violence, mention of knife, brief mention of smut | 5200 Words

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Dear Wanda,

After receiving the devastating news of your husband’s passing, I had shared my grief to the pastor and prayers to the almighty, our lord and saviour. We are nothing but the common people with voices hoping for better days, the God above must’ve listened.

My reasons for this lengthy letter to you; a promise that I shall visit soon and offer a shoulder for your head to rest. A promise that you may leave your sorrow for me to hold as we sit and drink your favourable tea. I hope you still favour your Sokovian tea cold.

Wanda, I know how your love for him was great and he was a kind man. Those time together would be treasured.

However, this letter has excited me for my visit to your dear home of Sokovia.

And— I saw the moon tonight. She was thriving in the night sky. Glowing so beautifully and I felt her touch my skin. I hope the sun was bright enough for you.

Wanda…I am so happy to see you again.

- Your dearest, sunshine.

February—1866

The morning mist engulf your body with chills, winter’s tease leaves a huff of translucent cloud of smoke from your mouth. Nothing transforming had occurred in Sokovia since your stay, approximately five years ago. Leaving your childhood home was your utmost conclusion. By the reasons of which leaves you in a puddle of tears.

While those memories fade into the past, your body felt lighter as you walk down your treasured town. The once horrid scene at Uncle Tony’s Bakery doesn’t gnaw at your heart anymore nor does the reminder of a kiss that spew sickness from your previous night’s dinner.

He wasn’t the one, you had assured yourself at first. Vision was simply a puppet. The flawless textbook of a man that her family glorified. His family lived a glorious life; helpers was scattered around his mansion, gold lining on porcelain plates and cutleries, clothes pressed neatly, and his parents were pronounced dead after a hideous case of the flu.

Sadly enough, Vision survived. Among the various estates that was now threaded with his name, he didn’t leave Sokovia or travelled the world. It wasn’t his town nor was it yours.

But you knew it better.

When you last saw her in immaculate condition, however, you didn’t expect for your feet to lead you back to her house. Not the highest building in town, but her decaying home once housed her parents and her twin brother. A memorable landmark for a quarter of your childhood when first met with hers.

Taking attentive steps in direction of the timeworn wooden door, your fingers twirls the lock of hair seized by a scarlet ribbon. You often held on to the last precious part of her, the silky bronzed strands that dejectedly doesn’t smell like her anymore. But the touch rattles your insides. Wanda’s hair still holds her essence in your possession.

Your free hand slides across tattered wood, a hallow sound of knocks emits and the distance sound of steps inside. Deep breaths, and the door unlocks to reveal her.

“Wanda…” you gasped, flinging your body into hers and the recognizable arms around your body solidifies your mind from worries. “I miss you, my moon…” and you hear her murmurs of response, the tender fingers bruising your heart when she touches your skin.

Wanda laughs, parting from your body slightly as to see your face and her hands grasps your face. Her lips quivers and eyes glossy, “I got your letters, all of them.”

Her voice loops around your throat and you couldn’t utter a word after, only nodding your head as her forehead leans against yours. When eyes shut close, rejoice flushes in different shades behind your eyelids and her body flush with yours, influences your mind as she easily steers you into her home.

To watch her, feels as though seeing a well composed orchestra. The strings from instruments far too expensive for you to own, but enough to pilot your heart’s desire and she is that; assembling music in clear air, emerald eyes twinkling as she speaks and pleasantly reaching for your hands, how candle light flickers at every instance of her silvery voice, and your heart plummeting from her mere gaze.

“I don’t have anything, but you are all that I know,” Wanda confessed, round cheeks glistering from fallen tears. “You can’t leave me anymore,” she pleaded as she clutches to your hands.

Undoubtedly, your hands lift her hands to your mouth and press a tender kiss on her skin. The poised of your words and action was plenty for her heart to understand. Wanda doesn’t worry and neither do you, not when your hand guides her forward.

“They would never come between us,” you promised.

Wanda gleefully hauls your body into hers, and when lips meet—your felt the earth rumble beneath your feet, clouds shifting in the sky, the colours around seems so evolve as her tongue traces your bottom lip, and she invites herself into your mouth. It will always be perfect, with her, with you.

Dear Wanda,

I’m sadden by my sudden departure.

But I hope you understand my reasons for leaving our dear town. It wasn’t easy for me to finally accept my family’s proposal to live in the new city. Please tell me how you feel, Wanda.

I heard you wedded him. Does he treat you like your romance novels? Please let me know. I will talk to him if he doesn’t treat you as that, a beautiful princess. You had always dreamed of a fairy tale love.

My afternoons are dull here. So are my mornings and nights. Nothing excites me anymore. I miss our daily tea and cakes. Do you still bake? I miss the taste of your irreplaceable food. I would cheerfully author a book to explain my love for your scrumptious food and your kind heart. Wanda, my dear friend, your heart is immense with kindness, of magnificent love, and you are always so helpful.

I must end this letter here as father request my attendance. Everyone misses you. But I miss you the most. Never dare forget that.

I hope we meet soon.

- Your dearest, sunshine.

December—1844

The twins celebrated their birthday last month. A wonderous bread was feasted at dawn. Wealth wasn’t threaded with their names to allow them more. Wanda doesn’t summon her brother after their family’s petite celebration as Pietro was happily chatting with his friends after the split of bread between their four family members. The Maximoff were everything kind, but not filthy rich as compared to their children’s close friend, Vision.

Wanda doesn’t dwell in their underprivileged life either. The unmeasurable love blessed within her family was enough. She doesn’t allow the show of expensive dresses to ache her heart as the others seems to believe objects were more treasurable. Additionally, her friends or just one, partakes a significant piece of her livelihood.

Few houses down, opposite Miss Agatha’s store, a modest home for a family and where her timid friend lives. You were different, awfully quiet, traceable where you step, and certain when surrounded in your element. Wanda liked you from the first greetings between families, and how you were gracious as you waved at her. A generous offer for your last candy was the ultimate seal to a marvellous friendship.

But there was always a horrid cloud hovering over your frame when Vision stepped into her sight and at once, you bid farewell. Excuses that fell upon her wasn’t your truth.

And she knew better.

At age eleven, Wanda was exceptionally smatter than most. Regardless of their interpretation on a woman’s intelligence. That was when she discovered you were the same. Equally observant, tendencies of mischief if kept out of peering eyes, and a want for knowledge. Adventure was there too.

“I’m going for a walk!” Wanda yelled, trying to peer into the window of your house. “I know your parents aren’t home.”

She was correct when the wooden door screeched open. You stand behind, folding your arms over the nightgown that swallows your body. It was a passed down gown from cousins. The silence nudges her forward as she steps into your house and you closed the door, quietly following her.

“You have been avoiding me, sunshine” Wanda pointed her forefinger accusingly at you. “Please explain, what did I do wrong…” she breathed out, her accent fluttering at every word as a wave of tears washes over her cheeks and you dived to wipe her tears.

“No, no, don’t cry,” you pleaded as she wheezed, and you instantly embrace her. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I’m sorry, please don’t cry. I can’t see you in sadness.”

There was a distinguish shift on innocent friendship after that night. A thread of forever in tender hands as young hands grasp a seamstress’ scissor, owned by Wanda’s mother, and wordlessly borrowed. Round eyes watch as the silver blade wedge between lengthy hair, the clink sounded sacred in young ears and a smile spread upon your face as she ties the lock of her hair with a scarlet ribbon.

“A part of me will always be with you,” Wanda presses the lock of hair on your palm. “Promise me, it will always be us?” her hands trembles in yours and you nodded your head.

“Always us,” you promised, smiling widely as she presses her forehead on yours.

The messily knotted yellow ribbon secures your lock of hair. Part of you with her, part of her with you, and the rest wouldn’t know the extent of devotion between two friends.

Dear Wanda,

I found someone. I know, you must laugh at my abrupt confession. But please read before you burn this letter. I know how you must be upset to know this.

He promised me an enormous wedding if I was to say yes. I don’t know what to do. Oh Wanda, I hope you were here to help me. You always knew what was right.

But you are married and occupied with your wife duties. I wish our friendship was still lively as it was when we were young. Has it really been two years since we last met? I miss you dearly, my Wanda.

Remember when we ran away from home? Remember how it felt as we dash past the large trees and hear squirrels in the far edges of the forest? Remember the lake that we bath for one night? Remember how the stars were like crystals in the sky?

I don’t think I could ever feel as happy without you. I miss you, Wanda.

Why was faith so cruel to us— but I hope you are happy with your new life. I am trying with my dull life.

Should I say yes to him? Will that solve my aching heart? Wanda, please tell me what to do. I wish you were here to hold me and tell me. Letters would never fill the empty space in my heart for you.

I must end my letter here. I am sure you don’t wish to read a letter drenched in my tears. Wanda, I miss you. I long to see you again.

- Your dearest, sunshine.

January—1861

A bird chirps by your window at dawn, other flutters their feathery wings around the balcony till your shadow reveal from behind grey curtains. They linger for a moment before passing to another space, and you stay there, pondering their next visits. A wish pooling at your throat to fly away freely as them than stay in a secluded life.

The looming year closes in sorrowfully, your body clutching onto nothing, but the dusty cloth used by many before you. Sounds of young women ushering the others, grumbles here and there, while you remain as solemn as any other portrait painted of a woman.

She would had loved this, you thought when you first stepped into New York City. Exploring the streets, grumbles of dusky clouds from developing industries, frequent stops to greet horses leading their carriages, and her silvery voice persuading you to release the ropes that pulled them according to a human’s pleasure.

And you would had listened, like a student wishing to please their teacher. Happiness clouding your eyes as you near her request, willing to harm yourself for her own glow to cast over you.

But she wasn’t there with you.

While you last saw her before your departure—an abrupt decision made by your father and obediently followed by your mother, neither allowing you the opportunity to speak your stand—and that was exactly a year ago, much had changed, but not your memories of her.

Walking in your assigned room hasn’t felt like home. The single bed held by rusty frame, clothes still neatly tucked in your russet coloured luggage bag, the wallpaper peeling painfully slow, leaks that platters exactly at the hour your eyes seek for rest, and the ambience so strange in your hands, trying to familiarize with a changed life.

Breathing the air of a bottomless pit, you trudge down the hallway as any other day, following the distinct sound of children mumbling. By mind’s work, your hand reach for the precious part of your belongings, the pad of your finger traces the seams of a scarlet ribbon then feeling the silky strands of bronzed hair. A calming essence immerse in your chest, and you feel as if, her body glides by your side. Ensuring you away from worries.

You often find yourself flourishing in daydreams from the innocent view of children. Tumbling down your own path, a child or two, perhaps twins. While wealthy parents’ requests for nannies to nurture their offspring, you wish to care for your own and see their life ahead, weaving little hearts in heaps of affection.

“My dear, you look ravishing today.”

The subtility of your hand grasping a pencil, brittle wood scratches your palm. A scorch of fire ignites in your chest. His voice so malicious in your ears, rotting the sounds of her that echoes freely in your mind. Interruptions of your fantasy were surely the least of your problem, if close to her.

“Mr Wilson,” you greeted forcefully, mustering an attempt of a friendly smile. A proper young woman, the kind your family adores as your persona sewn their mouth shut from questioning your future. “Where is your lovely son?” and said question, garnered a thunderous laughter.

“By your concern, it seems that you wish to mother my beautiful son,” he offhandedly presumed, taking a step forward and closer into your space.

To watch him, flowering your route with promises of wealth, and endless bliss—hasn’t graze your heart the way she does, like how you felt utterly consumed by freedom when your body was perched against hers, and you could breathe into her sweet scent. You could stare into an empty space, as if a theatre was showing their most famed play, and fantasise days with her, so clear enough to notice the speckles of dust drifting in air freely.

Wanda, her liveliness blooms in your chest, and when her firm lips press on your hand, it was unlike any gentleman’s attempt of politeness. When she twirls you around, giggles warming your chest, bare feet following a muddy trail into the hidden forest. Admiring the moon’s glow on her face, how the sun’s glimmer makes her eyes vivid as thought the forest were veiled around her pupils, and when stars scattered in the night sky as her head rest on your shoulder or her finger pointing at puffy clouds, designating each of them to an animal.

And she was there with you, hands clasping warmly together. Your dear Wanda, her smile was always so bright, and you wonder from time to time; was she the one to morph the earth’s light with her own magical glint, a smile worth more than crystal like stars in the sky.

“No,” you sternly denied. “I am promised to someone else,” and the hush words of hers, only hers.

The sheer poised of your words, his face inching with unwarranted irritation for your constant denial, and her laughter emits in your head. What a man, she would had mocked as your body stumbles into hers, bones and skin adjacent together, and the muffled sound of a hopeless man.

She was there, you were there, and there was immerse trust. Promises layered with sacred strands kept with you and her, fingers enclosing around the other, trickles of red where devotion meet, and whispers that tickles your cheek warm.

A woman so far, and yet, she holds you so close.

Dear Wanda,

This will be my last letter to you, at least till the war settles in the earth’s core. I am sorry for starting this in such a sorrowful way. But I cannot lie for my sake or pretend to feel that I am okay with this.

My hope is wearing thin for us to meet. I think faith has decided the most horrid of future for us— but you are happy. My dear friend, you have found happiness.

And Vision treats you well as he promised me, and I am simply…alive. I am happy for you, I promise.

Wanda, I promise to live as happy. Though, I would never find peace here. The city is congested with people. All finding new land to brood their family. Sometimes, I wish I was like them too. Don’t you wish that for me?

I know you would agree. Our seeds of dream were planted in moist ground, just waiting for the precise time to mature and bloom with flowers. I think I missed the moment it did. I think I missed many moments with you.

I miss you dearly, my only friend.

I hope I am not late….for everything.

If this letter does reach you; don’t forget to kiss the sun for me.

— Your dearest, sunshine

December—1862

The war, an unavoidable human fault. Where treasured landmarks met their blows, and Wanda grief of those who had blessed her days. Father, mother, brother, various friends and family, faced the greys of life while she lived on. How she profoundly wishes to hear Pietro’s laughter as her mother scolds him and her father ushers her into the house with a promise of her favourite dessert. The Maximoff was humble, grateful and happy, even when melancholy fell remorseful on them. Her family could never compare to that love of her husband, Vision.

Wanda obediently abide to her husband’s wish of relocating to America. He doesn’t reveal more than adorning her shoulder with an expensive shawl, forging grief at her lost as he swiftly guided her from her family’s grave, and she instantly carried herself. A sturdy married woman who prosper fortunately by her husband’s side.

It takes them days or weeks to arrive, she hasn’t counted the days in fear of accumulating the time away from a land she knew. Away from her family.

Vision was different when he guided her through a crowd of brash people, his hold on her arms were harsh as compared to those firm hands always persistence to ensure she was comfortable. A mansion hails her sight when he finally releases his hold on her. Where she stood still, without him clutching onto her like she was his sole treasure.

However, there was a dreadful spark hanging between them, awaiting a blaze to ruin what happiness she came to know from him. Where Vision speaks of visiting another state more than once a week. His family’s business was at the verge of worldwide success. Excuses fell from his mouth, accompanied by expensive gift and she offered her best wishes for him.

But she wasn’t a senseless woman.

By the third week of the month, Wanda had gathered enough knowledge of her husband’s constant office visits. His absent permitted her little walks down the street, observing those cowering by their husband’s scowl, and young woman happily chattering away, their hands free from commitment under the oath of a wife.

She thought of you too; kind-hearted, passionate, loving, and sweet. Her own gleam of sunshine. The first friend to grace her space, and how her heart gnaws for you, to hold you close and feel the warmth of your skin next to hers, how your teasing smile would ignite an everlasting bliss within her chest.

As the memories of you spread her solemn state, something in her mind nudges her head forward than retrieving back to her quite house. Soft edges irises seemingly stare ahead, a glint restored in pupils widening by the seconds that pass. Her heart throbs achingly when she first met the sight of you—so flawless and perfect. Multitude of people passes through, some cursing under their breath and bumping into her shoulder, but you were there, steps away from her.

“Sunshine,” Wanda whispered, her hand hovers over her mouth while the other press on her lower neckline. A noticeable lump rest there of a promise made at eleven. “My sunshine,” she cried, tears flow freely down her cheeks and clings onto the coldness of the morning air.

On the other end, you felt something. As if there was a warm hand enclosing firmly on your wrist, your heart seems to halt, and you held onto your breath, twisting your body to follow the pleas ahead. And you see her there, a sight that swells your heart, eyes burning of unshed tears.

“My dear Wanda?” you gasped, and your body jerks forward.

A momentous change in a tedious life, where you take the first step forward then the next was hers. Each step fuels hearts with desire, flashing with sweet memories and the bitterness that clogs throbbing hearts. The thread of forever tying together as you reach her, and she smiles, the kind that makes your knees weak.

“A part of me left with you,” Wanda confessed, her hand reach for yours so eagerly and you let her. “It was always us, wasn’t it?” her hand trembles in yours, grasping so tight and you felt the outlines of her bones against yours.

“Always us,” you breathed out, lips curling with a wide smile and it felt different. “I miss you so much,” and you couldn’t stop the various confession that fell from your mouth when she embraces your body.

The messily knotted ribbons around two locks of hair meeting the other again. Parts of her and you were lost, till you were together after years apart. A devotion between two friends that never flatter. Where your cheeks flushed warmly, her fingers press on your skin as she traces the years missed of your skin on hers, the subtle look in her eyes urging you to leave your promised day ahead and follow her. The answer met when your lips press firmly on her cheek and you felt her hand pulling you to the opposite direction.

Daylight fades into the night’s luminosity, as her soft voice compels you into her trance and she so helplessly held onto you, fingers crawling on skin and the once quiet house, gleams scandalously. Best friend, a festering promise when reach their ears, because you knew her truth as she knows you, every inch of your skin to the edges of your thoughts.

The ominous thoughts whirling mindlessly, where pastors blubbered to their dear god, where she reaches for your hand and kiss you bare, and the subtle draw of breath before reality befall upon those saved souls. Wanda’s hand messily drawing lines on brittle ground tainted in crimson. Excuses for her first time while yours were precise, the loops always round and edges sharp, and she loved that about you. So perfect, so soft, so nice, so everything that she needed.

First, second, third, and more, the loads of self-fulfilment that flushes her cheeks as she sees your eyes wide. An old book sprawled on your lap while her fingers kneads your shoulder, soft lips moulding into the deep of your neck, then lips meet hungrily and your mouth parting to allow her tongue to taste your words.

“My moon,” you blew your words into the air, breathing unreservedly.

The sun and the moon. The friends and the lovers. The forbidden fruits that was devoured by two. The life that was made—after she had you, at ease and free.

“I miss you,” Wanda panted, spreading your thighs apart as her mouth latches to your throbbing heat. And you hear her promises, I love you, I love you, I love you…

Dear Wanda,

I dreamed of tea and your cakes today. My mouth is watering as I write this. The taste of sweetness is a narrow reminder in my mouth, invading my tongue and tainting it for anything— that dare try to taste the same way.

My hands tremble achingly in rival to my limited options. No, I could never break our promise. Remember, I am your sunshine. I will never forget. You cannot dare forget me either. Best friends, remember?

But I do crave more of sweet and sour. The pull of my teeth on harsh candy. My eyes tearing as I taste the first pleasurable bite then another, and another, and that my greediness will drown me happily. My skin warm as I immerse my body in pure bliss.

But it’s different here. The sweetness doesn’t linger at the roof of my mouth. I spat out the foul taste when mouth first touch. But I needed to feel somewhere close to home. I am a fool, I know. But I am only listening to you, my dear Wanda. I will never disobey the promises made.

You must know by now that defeat is bitter sometimes, or sweet as a forbidden fruit. God bless us, the pastor often said, and I agree too. God blessed us.

And you were wrong, Wanda!

A wife and yet, I had proven you wrong. The juice of berries takes a day to completely drain while you said two! Perhaps, I made a mess without you guiding me. But I would like to assume I did good by my own.

How is life in your glorious mansion? Did Vision tell you about the city’s rise in businesses? The world’s truly changing. I wish for you to see this too.

I miss you, my dear Wanda.

I must hurry now. I hope this letter find its way to you.

— Your dearest, sunshine

February—1863

Life changed irrevocably, curling at your throat with laughter, and glossy eyes so apparent beneath amber light. Life is tender. Favouring your notion than the voices outside your humble paradise. And Wanda was undoubtedly wrong, but how heaven like was her laughter as her eyes trails along the way you prove her wrong, and how hellish it was when the horrid cries echoes down the stairwell.

The stumbles of bodies on her marital bed and those foul-smelling ones beneath where fools lie. Her tongue warm in your mouth and spiteful when hearing their devious screams. Her fingers trace the curves of your body, following every hitch of breath, and so hungrily she plummets into you, savouring you as though the holy bread—or whatever that was proposed as the god’s offering. You never cared for their religious fascination nor does she. They were the real evils in aspects of influence, and influence was only appealing when shared between two.

The dearest of them all, her husband noted. It was simply a sweet gesture on his side after coming home to behold his wife and her best friend huddled together, trying to learn embroidery. The odour of another woman’s perfume on him and you were abundantly grateful. He was awful at keeping his affairs a secret. It sickens you to know that she hid the truth from you.

But you were her sunshine.

While you expected her to completely condition herself over his mistakes, however, you didn’t expect for her bare breasts to press nonchalantly on your back or her hand to clamp around your breast while the other trails the cold iron on your skin. Wanda solidifies your mind from seething in anger, and gifts you the knife in your hand.

The first spill of unwarranted dew was blessed by your moon’s kiss on your blissful cheek of her sun’s shine. Her hand grasps yours, fluttering away about a book she found and that was the first of innocent hearts finding purpose unlike the kind forced onto them. That same excitement flourishes in your chest, tainted so beautifully, and quite as you were when she first saw you.

Your hand pushes the wooden door of his office, a creek itches your ears and worse when he groans with annoyance. Finally, you smiled, and he lifts his head to meet your taunting gaze.

“Vision,” you greeted him, the knife hidden behind as you prance teasingly into his room and Wanda follows behind you quietly. “I think we have an important, very grave matter to speak of! But…I am jaded with your sophisticated words, ugh, so many useless words. Wanda, my moon, how did you survive?”

Wanda laughs, her arms folding around your waist and her chin resting on your shoulder. “I simply fantasise for a day like today, my sunshine.”

Her voice dreamy in your ears and wonderous when you knife plunge into his chest, like a stake into the heart. Vision was foolish and unaware. He couldn’t safe himself than scream helplessly of infidelity and betrayal, while his blood splatter on your face and your tongue licks the corner of your mouth. A frown on your face as she shakes her head. Wanda whispers of something sweeter than his bitter blood. You listened, extracting your knife from his body after the numerous stabs left.

Wanda takes the knife from your hand then strokes his face with the same bloody blade. Her lips quivers, forging sadness at his lifeless body before laughter echoes in his room. You watch her intently. The leading actor of a profound theatre play, her emerald eyes like the forest green shimmering under white light, and she speaks her script so efficiently as the knife that passes through his throat.

“You are marvellous,” you confessed, gaze solely focus on her. “You are perfect.”

Everything was perfect. His head dangling by his golden hair like a useless ornament between her fingers. Her kiss muddled on your lips as she speaks of forever, and your knees weak. You watch her build an altar for the recent offering. A god, a priest, a leader, a woman who you would happily kneel and abide by her every word.

And she smiles so sweetly, like a kid being offered candy. How you love the taste of her in your mouth and when droplets of her blood smear on your lips, and yours on hers, an addition she promised upon life itself.

Together, Wanda wouldn’t have to worry about you, and you wouldn’t have to dream about finally seeing her. Because she will always stay by your side as you will stay by hers. A promise made at eleven, and forever.

#spookyweek22 #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine

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mwolf0epsilon · 2 years

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Whumptober Day 27: Pushed To The Limit

Prompt: Alt. Tears

Summary: To be human is to cry...

[I am haunted by the image of raindrops on clone helmet visors like tears on weeping statues.]

THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3

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The clones are not allowed to cry. Correction. The Coruscant Guard is not allowed to cry. Just as they're not allowed to take off their buckets in public. Or do anything less than perfect.

They're not allowed to be people. To be human. To be human is to cry.

It rarely rains on Coruscant. Everything is artificial, so bad weather is not something that needs to happen often. Only when the streets need flushing. The rainwater is honestly quite a waste, but it also brings respite to the Guard in more ways than one.

Usually there's no one around when the fake skies weep. Usually there is little trouble to find out on patrols when it rains. Usually the Guardsmen get to take a deep breath as they walk on forwards, appreciating the rare quiet. Letting the raindrops pitter patter against their identical armour plating. Roll down their visors. Wash away the anguishes of the day.

Hound loves the rain. He loves that it weeps for him. For them. For the Guard who've been robbed of so many more rights than any other battalion. It makes him feel human.

Grizzer loves it too. Loves splashing in the puddles. Gets to play for once rather than focus on any strange scents that might need calling attention to. The massiff makes him feel human too.

The warm tears running down his face, disguised by the rainfall, are ones of sorrow and joy. Pain and relief. Proof of life. Proof that Hound is still himself despite how everyone is starting to black out like Fox.

To be human is to cry.

Coruscant has denied them all that right. The Coruscanti rainfall gives it back.

#Eps Writes #star wars #the clone wars #whumptober2022 #sergeant hound #very short one this time I'm running out of ideas #I only know what to do with the 31st prompt I'm winging the rest :c

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whumpster-fire · 2 years

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Athanasia Part 11: The Journey

Masterpost for character info and previous chapters

Content Warning: Animal/Monster Whumpee, References to past animal abuse, Animal Death (carnivores being carnivores), Abandonment

The night is much too wet and cold for the little creature winding her way through the forest. Much too wet and cold to stay out in the open this long. Her fur can keep her warm when it is dry, but it does not repel water very well. She darts and zig-zags between the trees, staying under their branches as much as she can, but the autumn leaves are sparse, and it is raining too hard for them to do any good. Soon she is soaked to the skin, her white-and-black-striped coat plastered against her slender, bony frame. She has put on some weight in the ten days since she escaped from the cage on the gibbet post where she was left to starve and rot alive, but she is still thinner than she should be.

Almost immediately she wants to scurry back to the hollow log where she was sheltering. Nights like this are for curling up and sleeping, not for hunting, no matter how hungry she is. But she cannot turn back. She is not hunting. She is searching. Searching for the man who rescued her, who helped her wounds heal, who kept her safe and fed while she was so hurt and sick she could not even walk. The man who made her remember that people once meant safety and comfort to her instead of fear and pain, who made her remember what it was like to not be alone. The human who chased her away, just like the old family did so many, many years ago.

The night is dark, too dark. Her eyes are meant for darkness, but the moon and stars are covered by clouds. The only light is flashes of lightning, and the yellow glow of her own eyes. They become dimmer when she is hunting, when she is trying not to be seen, but now they burn like candles. Even so she cannot see far through the rain, and when the road appears from the gloom it is a surprise even though she was looking for it.

This is where he left her, this is where he drove her off. He left her far from the nearest village, far from people. It is a place where she would be safe, where there is prey and water and trees to climb and hide in and banks of earth held by roots where she could dig new dens, and live as she has for so many years. But she does not want that life anymore.

For a moment she panics, not remembering which way he went, which way she went. No – this way, this way. There is no sign of him. The rain has washed away any bootprints, and any scent. All she can do is follow the road. But it has turned to mud, the ruts and potholes turned to deep puddles. Tansy’s paws and ears are already numb, and walking through puddles makes it worse. She picks her way around as best she can, and tries to stay in the grass by the side of the road, but suddenly the ground under her paws disappears, and she slips and tumbles into a ditch.

If it were full of rain water, she would hardly care. She cannot get any wetter anyway. But she is plunged deep into horrible soupy, dark mud that reeks of algae and decaying reeds. She scrambles out in a panic, but the wet, rain-slicked grass gives no purchase, and she falls in again.

She makes it out after a couple of tries, but now she is completely covered in it. She tries to shake herself off, but it is useless. She hates it, she hates the weight of it pulling her down, she hates the disgusting, clammy feeling, she hates the cold so much! Tansy’s breath catches in her throat, and the pent up fear and sorrow and misery overwhelms her. She makes another feeble attempt to shake off at least one paw, and breaks down into sobs. She is shivering so hard her teeth chatter, and she nearly bites her tongue. She sits there, half in and half out of a puddle, her paws ankle deep in the mire. The same as she was when he found her. But he is gone, and – and she is never going to find him, and this is all a waste of time, even if she finds him, he will just chase her away again, or he will hurt her like the other humans did, or there will be other humans or dogs and they will cage her and tear her to pieces over and over!

Her nerve breaks, and she darts off the road to the cover of a leaning beech tree. Rain is still coming through dripping off the leaves, but it is not quite as wet. Panic, blind, useless panic, rises and swells in her like bile, like nausea. She wants to run, she has to run, but she does not even know where she is going! She is not sure she could find her way back to the hollow log in this weather. There must be other tree hollows and burrows in these woods, but she does not know where they are or where she is or whether there are other creatures in them. And even if she found shelter now, all she could do is huddle there soaked and shivering and covered in mud and wait for morning. It is too late to turn back.

She wants to find him again so, so badly. She wants to be picked up, and protected from the rain by wool, and just… held. She wants to hear his gentle voice, and feel his fingers stroking her fur, and… even the bath would be better than this. She hated it at the time, she hated the slippery metal and the cold air and the wetness and hands and rough cloth scrubbing at her fur. But right now she would welcome being soaked in warm water and having the clammy mud all washed away. Even thinking of trying to lick this off makes her feel a little sick, and it would take so long to wait for it to dry and scrape and rub against tree trunks. She remembers being dried off and wrapped in blankets, and having the heat of a fire and a much larger body fighting off the damp chill. And it is not just that she wants to be warm and clean and dry and safe. Of course she wants those things, she wants them so much! But she wants to be held. To be comforted. To be loved.

Tansy holds onto those memories for dear life because they are the only defense she has left against the cold and damp. There is nowhere to go, no way out of this storm. But she has spent months in a tiny cage with no shelter, and no way out. She knows she can survive one more night of it, and she cannot stand the feeling of staying here, not dry, not safe, just doing nothing like there are still invisible bars around her. If she will be wet and cold and miserable all night either way, then – then she has to keep going. She has to keep chasing that faint hope that this suffering will stop. She drags her exhausted body to its feet and forces her numb, shivering paws to move.

She tries to follow the road in short bursts, sprinting from tree to tree and pausing to rest and shake herself off. But her attention keeps slipping away, and her eyes are bleary with fatigue. She realizes she has strayed so far from the path she cannot see it, and it is several trees to get back to it. Every time she stops moving it is so hard to not just collapse. Her body feels so heavy, like if she lies down she will not have the strength to rise. It is too cold… too cold…

A clap of thunder shocks her awake. And she does not remember going to sleep. She should not have gone to sleep. Tansy abandons the cover of the woods, and the leaf litter that is wet but at least is solid underfoot, and returns to the road. The wheelruts and puddles and slippery mud are uncomfortable, but the discomfort keeps her standing, keeps her walking forward because she cannot rest here. She is afraid she will collapse anyway, that the cold will completely overwhelm her, but she knows it will not kill her. Once, a long time ago, she tried to cross a river that was not quite frozen enough, and came to washed up on the bank a long way downstream, coughing up frigid water.

The rain fades away, but more waves of it come and go all through the night. Sometimes a drizzle, sometimes a downpour. Tansy wants to hide under the trees and only move when the rain is lighter, but she is not sure she can stay awake if she stops moving. Sometimes she stops anyway without meaning too, and is only roused by the horrible sensation of water and mud against her chin and nose and whiskers, and sometimes she loses her footing because she can barely feel her paws and her attention keeps slipping away from the ground in front of her.

The sun has risen by the time she reaches the town, but it is a grey, dreary dawn. There are a few people about, but the light is dim. She crouches in the weeds beside a fence, her heart racing. This is dangerous! She should not be here, especially in the daytime! Even when she hunted in the town that captured her, she avoided the central street where everything is walls with few places to run or hide.

But Tansy knows John must be here, somewhere in the town. She cannot travel as fast as him for long distances, but he could not have gotten much further before the rain arrived. He does not like to travel in the rain either, and he usually stopped in places like this even when she was with him, to trade the metal things he made. He has to be here… he has to be close, so close, but she cannot search for him without being found herself! Tansy claws at the fence in frustration. What now? What can she do?

It starts to rain again, and Tansy works up the courage to make her way into the streets. Some of the people have been driven inside, and the ones who are outside are not paying attention. She slinks from building to building, crouching under the eaves, in the gaps between houses, anywhere there is cover from both the storm and from sight.

She searches for a way up to the roofs. It would be safer there – no one will look up in the rain. If she can cross through the town, and follow the road to the other side, maybe she can find where he will leave, and wait for him. She watches from under a discarded board, and chooses her route, then waits until no one is looking. She darts across the street and leaps up onto a sign, but only just hooks her claws into the beam and her hindpaws set it swinging. She freezes in place, clinging to it, and glances around. Safe. She drags herself onto it, then up a windowframe. It feels like the building is spinning and swaying under her. She stops again, catching her breath, bracing herself for the harder jump onto the roof, and just barely makes it up.

But these roofs are tiled, not thatched, and they are steep and slippery in the rain. Tansy moves carefully, staying in the peaks and valleys and testing her grip with each pawstep, but careful is not enough. She feels her paw slip as she puts weight on it and tenses, then twists, turning around and scrabbling for purchase, but she slides faster and faster until she tumbles off the edge and plummets to the ground. Her reflexes are so dulled that she does not twist in the air fast enough to land on her feet. There are no cobblestones in the little alley where she lands, but it is still a hard blow, and the rain coming off the roofs has turned the earth to deep puddles. The sun must not shine down here enough to dry it up well either, and she lands in a splash in what is nearly a bog.

It is little consolation as Tansy limps out of the alley that her filthy, bedraggled coat hides her form against the stone and wood of the town. She abandons the idea of going through it, especially when the rain stops again and people and animals come out. A dog barks, and she does not know or care if it is at her, she bolts, flying through the puddles and dodging around something large and hooved.

The moment she reaches open ground she hides in a thicket, panting and shivering. She wants to run farther, but her legs buckle under her. Her head hurts, and her vision drifts out of focus. Her body cannot take any more. Too long without warmth, too long without sleep, too long without food. Hunger has been gnawing at her all night, but now it has reached the stage where it makes her feel nauseous and weak. Try to hunt, or try to sleep? She does not know if she can catch anything in this state, but she will only feel worse if she sleeps all day.

She is too exhausted to have any chance of catching a mouse or rabbit. But the rain has slowed down other creatures too. A grass snake and a few insects are a meager meal. She is still on farmland, and despite her fear she creeps closer to the houses. There are a few ducks and geese grazing near a pond, but she gives them a wide berth. They cannot take off as fast as other birds, but they do not have to run far to be safe in the water, and they are bigger than her. She can probably kill one if things go right, but there are many ways they can go wrong. The carcass would be too heavy to carry off quickly, too, and whether she succeeds or fails they would make enough noise to alert the people and dogs, and… Tansy makes herself as small as possible, her throat closing up from fear. No hunting here. It is dangerous enough to be here at all. There will be more prey out when night falls. She just needs to keep her strength up until then. She snatches a few berries and small fruits from a garden close to the house, darting back to cover each time. They are not very filling, but the sweet juice gives her a bit of desperately needed energy.

She sleeps in a copse of trees until some time in the afternoon. She is too tired to brave jumping into water to wash the mud off her coat, and shivers and tosses and turns the whole time. Her muscles still ache when she climbs down, and it feels like fever might be setting in. But the rain has stopped and the sun shines weakly through the clouds. She cleans herself off as much as she can by rubbing against the trees and grass, and sets off. Not hunting, just walking, just traveling. It is too dangerous to go through the town, but she can go around it. She has not given up. She will not give up. She just has to find the road again on the other side.

The search brings a stroke of luck – the larder of a shrike, and the first real meal she has had in a whole day. It is a dangerous food source. The carcasses are too high to reach, and the same thorns that hold them in place make it impossible to climb without injury. Usually they are not worth the effort, but a long time ago Tansy discovered a trick to steal from them. She climbs a nearby tree and looks for a thin, crooked, dead branch of the right size and shape, and chews into it enough that by pulling and pushing it back and forth with all her weight over and over, it cracks and breaks off. It gets caught on lower branches twice on the way down, and she has to push it free. She drags it to the bush, and awkwardly – because it is larger than her, and heavy – props one end against the ground and flips it over so it rests against the brambles. It takes a few tries to get it into the right place.

It is precarious to climb, and her weight pushes it into the bush a bit. She cannot completely avoid the thorns digging into her paws and belly, but she reaches high enough to snag the branches with prizes on them with her claws. She pulls them closer, her other forepaw braced against the non-thorny branch and her tail lashing and whirling behind her to keep her balance, and drags it off the thorn. The bramble springs back, and the branch she is standing on falls, sideways, dragging a spine down her leg.

Tansy had forgotten how long it takes to get food this way, and how painful the process is. It is a lot of work for most of an already-dead mouse. But she repeats the process two more times before the shrike returns and chases her off. Her fur is bloodied, and she limps on wounded forepaws for a while, but it is safer to risk the wrath of thorns than of humans.

The search brings food, but it also brings uncertainty and disappointment. It is nearly sundown when Tansy reaches the road – or at least a road. It is leaving the town, but it is not far enough to the other side for her to be sure it is the same one. And despite sniffing around it until dusk, she cannot find any trace of the traveler’s scent. Her chest burns with anxiety. Should she stay here? Should she follow it? Should she keep going around? Perhaps he has not left the town yet, or perhaps he left early in the day when it was still raining and his scent was washed away, or perhaps this is not the right road at all! She has to make a choice, and choosing wrong could mean never finding him at all.

By the next morning, she is not far from where she started. She does not know if keeping going was the right choice, but staying or following the first one were almost certainly wrong ones. There are four roads leading out of the town – though one is the way she entered. None of them have any sign of him, and there is no way to guess which is the right one.

For two more days, and two more nights, Tansy goes back and forth around the town, hugging as close to it as she dares – closer at night than during the day. An endless cycle of hunting, sleeping, and walking. There are small rain showers and afternoons of drizzle and fog, but no real storms.

Three days, she tells herself, is when she will give up. She starts to doubt that there is any point to this. He must already be gone, or perhaps he will stay in the town forever now that he does not have her to worry about. The worries that even if she finds him he will chase her away again, or she will be caught by other humans, or he will just give them to her, grow stronger and stronger. She could be here for months, years, until the people here find her, and this time there will be no rescue.

But on the fourth day, late in the morning, Tansy returns to the road closest to opposite the one that led to the town. She sniffs at stones and tufts of grass halfheartedly. Her paws and muscles and joints all ache, and she has not slept or groomed herself nearly enough. Last night was rainy, and the road is still damp, with puddles in the ruts made by wagon wheels. She does not expect to find anything anymore, and is just waiting for the sun to set so she can accept that there is no chance. But as she follows the road out a short ways, just to be sure, a scent catches her attention.

She hardly believes it at first. It is faint – and human scents are usually faint compared to a mouse or fox or badger – and it seems weaker and less distinct than it should be. Maybe because there is something about it that resembles her own, but stronger at the same time. And familiar. Unmistakable. Metal and fire and old worn-out leather boots, and… she is not even sure what it is close to, but there is something to it that she can feel as well as smell, like her body is trying to force her to pay attention to it.

Tansy takes off down the road, faster than she has gone without chasing something or being chased in a long, long time. Every so often she stops, to make sure the trail is still there and to catch her breath. Her body is made for short bursts of speed, not to run and run and run without stopping. She crouches by the side of the road, panting so fast it feels like she is just breathing the same air over and over again. It is not a warm day, but she is still overheated, and she cannot tell where overexertion ends and fever begins. She stops long enough for her heart to not feel like it will burst, but the burning in her lungs never fully goes away. Every part of her body is… not screaming, there is no energy to scream, but quietly begging her to rest for longer, like the halfhearted cries she knew were pointless but still made many nights in the cage because she could not stop herself. Even when a man with a horse and cart passes in the opposite direction she does not wait long enough for him to be gone, just veers off the edge of the road and winds her way through the fields.

It is too fast a pace to keep up this long, but she has to keep going or she will have no chance of keeping up with a human. There are more tiny villages along the way that she braves cutting through, but she knows that if he reaches another town, another crossroads where she cannot follow, he might disappear again and she might never find him.

In the end, it is a chase after all. One that drags on longer than any before it. But the scent is getting stronger. Closer.

#my writing #whump #monster whumpee #animal whumpee #Tansy (OC)#Athanasia #past animal cruelty tw #abandonment #Jonathan Markley (OC)#incompetent caretaker

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corvid-lullaby · 3 months

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The lack of words was almost upsetting. Then again, why would there be any uttered when there was only a single person that remained alive?

A man stood before a fresh kill, but this kill was different for someone like Shikiya. He laid at his feet intact and unaltered by malicious intent. Curious, considering how well known it was for Shiki to play with and consume his prey. The only disfigurement was a single clean decapitation. In fact, his white scythe was still implanted into the ground from when the killing blow was delivered. There wasn't as much blood as there should have been either due to the severe cauterizing effect the scythe had.

Perhaps what was most perplexing about this victim was the way he died smiling. It was gentle; almost thankful.

Time? The tengu wasn't sure how long he was standing over the body. He seemed to be having trouble willing himself from the position of his hands in his pockets or from the deep frown that etched his aging face. All he could do was continue staring while seemingly lost in thought.

Eventually a soft sigh escaped him while his hands rummaged. As per usual a cigarette and lighter were pulled out. Right now he was craving his rolls of good tobacco and clove buds more than ever. He needed something to distract him from emotions he hadn't felt in so long.

Shiki had been watching this target for a while. He wasn't anyone of importance to be on someone's shit list. Quite the contrary. He was very kind, sweet, but had the curse of some of the worst luck he had ever seen. The tengu thought this would have been an easy meal as it was self preparing due to the misery he naturally and persistently lived through.

Instead, Shiki was met with a sour taste of deja vu. The events he saw the other live through… He was almost sure he had gone through the same. A happiness the victim thought he had, only for it to get torn from his hands. The struggle of trying to claw and cling for it there after. The sorrow and anger he slowly drowned in as he failed, yet walked as a living ghost due to regrets and wishes keeping him from taking his own life.

It all turned Shiki's stomach in such a mysterious way, as he was never one to feel pity or any kind of connection with his victims.

And so, for the first time in hundreds of years, the tengu granted someone peace. A merciful act, as Shiki's guts told him what would happen to this man if he didn't intervene. His first kill without any malicious intent. He could still hear the harrowing shrieks of despair the other gave off as he lost himself to grief within his final moments.

A burst of thunder suddenly webbed through the sky. Being interrupted from lighting his cigarette, the feathered being looked up.

"What. You got somethin' to say, too? Well damn, an answer for this shitten mess would be fuckin' swell, wouldn't it?"

In answer, it began to rain, which quickly grew heavier by the second.

Groaning, Shiki rolled his eyes before looking down at his lighter in defeat. Well, so much for having a smoke. That's when his attention shifted to his left sleeve. Feathers fell and piled there, and the darkened pigments of his hand began to bleed out. His eyes widened as his corvid-like properties fell and pooled into a puddle at his feet.

At that moment he realized it; he didn't feel hungry at all. All the rage and regret that lingered within like a deeply embedded worm also fell away to mingle with the sheddings of black feathers and ink. He stood there as a mere human in the truest sense. Not a trick or a glamour, but an actual human. Even though he wasn't sure why or how, it was certain; the curse was lifted.

Now a light brown, his eyes shifted back to his scythe. What normally was a warm and bright ivory now pulsed dimly. It revealed its details for the first time as that light ribboned away into distant particles. The handle and blade were ordinary but delicately carved stone. A look you would expect to see in a graveyard. Nothing sharp or powerful. Otherwise there was a vining rose with white blossoms that clung around it.

Now human, he couldn't help but stare at it with a new found clarity. That quiet moment would be interrupted by his own soft laugh. Gradually, it became hearty. Louder. It continued as he clutched and gripped at his own hair, until that laughter slowly became marred with that of pure insanity. It echoed along with the rolling thunder.

Even with the vanquished sorrow, can the broken truly be fixed? The mind is a fickle thing, and yet life continues to roll on.

鴉

#koikoi•#shikiya•

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fatecanberewritten-writer · 7 months

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Bewitched | Chapter Three: Shandy

Stars Series | Bewitched

By her third glass of cheap wine, she was about ready to burn the letter.

Only the buzzing light in the kitchen lit the single-room flat. Petunia Evans sat on the floor, leaning against the mattress the room had come with, listening to the growing storm outside, swirling the last bit of wine in her plastic wine glass, and staring spitefully at her sister’s letter. Her lighter was in her other hand.

Though she hadn’t read many of her sister’s letters as of late, she had never before burned one, and though they had parted this summer on bad terms, Petunia wasn’t sure if she was ready to burn that bridge. She felt numb as she sat her wine glass down, picked up the unopened letter, and brought the lighter to the bottom corner of it.

Her thumb hovered over the sparkwheel, but her eyes were focused on the scrawl on the envelope. All that was on it was her name. No address, no stamp, no return address (why would they need any of that? Somehow, owls just knew.) Her name was written in perfect cursive - of course it was. Everything about Lily Evans was perfect.

Her sister was a witch born into a non-magical family, but somehow she made Petunia look like the defective one. Of course, she never did that consciously - no, because Lily Evans was perfect. Such a kind, innocent girl with high morals. Their parents’ favorite. Her father always said he didn’t have a favorite child, but her mother had no shame in admitting it. Why can’t you be more like your sister?

At this thought, she pressed her thumb against the sparkwheel, a low growl coming from deep within her throat, but in a single moment, a clear thought worked its way past her rage, and she flung the lighter across the room. She couldn’t do it. Despite it all - despite her mother constantly degrading her, despite her sorrowful wonderings of why it hadn’t been her - Petunia cared deeply about her sister. She wasn’t about to throw it all away in a moment of drunken rage.

But she couldn’t bring herself to open the letter, either. She stood, put the new letter with the others in her bedside drawer, grabbed her coat and an umbrella, and left.

She opened her umbrella, stepped out into the street and just walked. She had no idea where she would go - she only ever seemed to be at her job or her apartment - but she had to put distance between her and that letter before she did something rash. So, Petunia hastened out to the main street and walked along it for several blocks. Eventually, the rain and wind had gotten bad enough that she felt puddles in her shoes, so she decided she’d better find some shelter. That shelter came in the form of an average-looking pub on a corner called Young Buck’s.

Laughter erupted as she entered the pub and she paused in the midst of closing her umbrella, looking contentiously around her. The group of men that had rowdily laughed seemed to have taken no notice of her at all. The four of them sat at a table to the right of the bar, and it looked as though one of them had spilled beer on his shirt. She let out a breath of relief as she realized they had not laughed at her at all - it had all just been bad timing.

A man in his mid twenties with light brown hair and kind eyes came out from behind the bar, giving the men a towel before his eyes set on Petunia. “Evenin’,” he greeted brightly. Petunia had never seen a bartender who seemed to love his job as much as this one. He moved back to the bar. “There’s an umbrella stand on the other side of the coat rack, you’re welcome to use both.”

While she turned sheepishly to discard her umbrella and coat, Petunia felt oddly comfortable in this pub, which was strange because Petunia didn’t exactly feel comfortable anywhere. She’d always been an anxious person, and she wondered what it was about this place that put her at ease. She remembered the wine she’d had before she had left her flat.

Keeping her distance from the group of men, Petunia made her way up to the bar, sitting in the middle of it. The bartender, drying a glass, gave her another friendly smile, which she returned. “What can I get you, miss?”

“I - um - ” Petunia started, looking flustered. At eighteen, this was the first time she’d ever come to a bar alone, and she suddenly couldn’t think of a single drink. “Could I get - ” she could feel her face reddening - “could I get a beer mixed with lemonade?”

The bartender chuckled. “A shandy? ‘Course.”

Petunia kicked herself when she heard the name of the drink. It had been on the tip of her tongue, and she felt stupid now, not having known it.

“New to the bar scene?” the bartender continued as he began to make her drink.

“Is it that obvious?” Petunia grimaced.

He shrugged, laughing lightheartedly. “Nothing to be ashamed of. And it’s better to start with a shandy than something harder. Let me take a stab at it - you nicked some of your parents’ beer when you were young, didn’t like the taste, so you added lemonade?”

At his words, Petunia could almost feel the rooftop beneath her. She had been the older one at sixteen, but it had been Lily, only fourteen, who had gotten ahold of their parent’s alcohol. She could still see the look on her face as she extended the bottle out to her like an olive branch. “I don’t want that if you used magic to get it,” Petunia had said sharply.

“Oh, come on Tuney, you know I can’t use magic outside of school,” Lily had responded with a laugh. To this day, Petunia still had a clear image of her sister that night, the sunset seeming to set her auburn hair ablaze, her kind face so full of life. She’d always been jealous of her sister’s looks.

Petunia had been reluctant to take the beer from her sister, but eventually she did, and Lily sat beside her on their roof, shoulder to shoulder. She had wanted to snap at her, asking her why she wasn’t with that Spinner’s End boy, but something about the moment had stopped her. All animosities were at a standstill, and even if it was just for that one moment, they were just sisters.

They had opened the beers simultaneously, bringing the bottles to their lips together, and nearly spat it out at the same time, their scrunched faces more similar than they ever had been.

“Oh, that’s awful.”

“Why do people drink this stuff?”

“It needs something. Something to hide the taste.”

“Lemonade?”

“Ah, the discovery of shandy,” the bartender mused, sliding eighteen-year-old Petunia her drink. Shaking off the memory, she gave him a shy smile and took a small sip of her drink.

Petunia tried not to think of much at all as she drank her shandy. That memory had snuck up on her and left her feeling unsteady - she didn’t want to think about her sister at all, not in a good light nor a bad one. That was why she had come to London in the first place, to distance herself from all of that, to finally focus on herself instead of her conflicted feelings towards her family. She took no notice of a couple that entered the pub, but, with her glass nearly empty, she was pulled out of her thoughts as a woman came in.

“Gin and tonic, please,” she told the bartender, leaning against the bar not far from Petunia. She couldn’t help herself from gawking at the woman - the very air around her seemed different than everyone else in the pub. She looked like a noblewoman to Petunia, like a duchess wearing a disguise so she could see how the lower class lived. Her soft brown hair was hardly even wet, though the rain was still thundering down. She obviously hadn’t been outside long.

Slowly the woman turned towards Petunia, and the second her wide brown eyes met her own, Petunia looked back down at her glass, embarrassed.

“Should I open a tab for you, miss?” the bartender asked the woman, handing her her gin and tonic. Petunia thought that her drink fit the woman well, both seeming very aristocratic to Petunia, who could hardly afford the shandy.

“No, but the person I’ll be meeting will take a shandy when she gets here,” she answered.

For a brief moment, Petunia stopped fiddling with her glass, looking up just in time to see the look the bartender shot her way. She smiled nervously at him, then turned her head just slightly to watch the woman walk away from the bar, settling herself into a secluded booth in the back.

Petunia spent the next few minutes trying to understand why the woman was so intriguing to her. She was beautiful, there was no denying that, but that’s not quite what drew her attention to her. There was something about her, something mystical.

Her stomach dropped as the thought occurred to her. Was it possible that the woman was like her sister? But it couldn’t be - from what she’d heard from Lily, most high society witches, which this woman undoubtedly would be, wouldn’t go near a place as Muggle as this.

“Al!”

Petunia had been too immersed in her thoughts to have heard the bell on the door chime, but the booming male voice behind her definitely caught her attention. She sat up straighter and looked around at the man approaching the bar. The first thing she noticed was his receding hairline.

“Will!” the bartender happily responded, moving closer to greet the man. Only a stool stood between her and this Will, who was radiating heat despite the freezing rain outside. Petunia awkwardly shifted in her seat.

Petunia tried her hardest not to eavesdrop on this conversation, but with how close they were to her and how loudly they were speaking, she was forced to hear every word of the bartender and Will’s conversation. They were apparently brothers-in-law, Will married to the bartender’s sister, who was eight months pregnant.

“Have you thought of any names yet?” the bartender, Al, asked.

“Haven’t narrowed it down, but we’re thinking something starting with an ‘O’,” answered Will. He seemed to be very excited to become a father, but Al seemed even more excited to become an uncle. “Something like Oscar.”

“What about Olen? That was our grandfather’s name.”

With the sound of the bell chiming on the door, Petunia didn’t get to hear Will’s opinion on the name Olen. The entire pub went silent, everyone’s attention keenly focused on the figure in the doorway.

As Petunia turned to the doorway, her breath caught in her throat. If the woman who ordered the gin and tonic was beautiful, then there were absolutely no words Petunia could use to describe this new woman. She was angelic. As her blonde hair fell out of her jacket as she pulled her hood off, Petunia thought that she was the sun itself. A shining light in the darkness.

The woman’s blue eyes flickered over the room, and though it was only a split second, her gaze met Petunia’s, and she felt a wave of nerves wash over her. The moment passed very quickly, her eyes settling on the woman in the secluded booth. She rushed past Petunia to her.

“Got another shandy drinker,” Al said offhandedly to Petunia, catching her off guard. Noticing this, Al smirked as he finished making the blonde woman’s drink. He smiled smugly at Petunia before he made his way over to the pub’s newest arrival.

Though the two women looked very serious, Petunia caught sight of the woman’s smile as she thanked Al for the drink, and she felt absolutely bewitched.

“Some might call it fate.” The bartender had spoken this so softly as he passed Petunia again that she almost didn’t catch it. She looked up at him abruptly, but he was already back to his casual conversation with his brother-in-law. The pub’s atmosphere went back to normal.

Petunia was trying desperately to listen into the women’s conversation, though with Al and Will talking loudly, the group of men getting rowdier by the minute, and an argument breaking out between the couple sitting by the window, Petunia was having a difficult time hearing them. It didn’t help that they were talking in very hushed voices.

She watched them from the corner of her eye. She couldn’t quite place their relationship to one another - they sat closely and had hugged when they had seen each other, but that could be so many things. They looked similar enough to be related, so Petunia settled her mind, calling them sisters. This was confirmed when Petunia picked up the word ‘Mum’.

But it was another word that nearly caused her heart to stop. Pureblood. Petunia tried to convince herself that she had misheard them, that maybe they had said ‘purebred’ or something like that, maybe talking about dogs, but she knew it wasn’t that. The blonde woman had said the word ‘Pureblood,’ a word Petunia had only ever heard Lily and that Snape boy use. Her assumption about the brunette woman had been correct, she was - they both were - witches.

The arguing couple left, making it a little easier for Petunia to overhear the witches.

“An infertile, a Blood Traitor and a lesbian?” she heard the blonde woman saying. “They’d be the laughing stock of Pureblood society. The damage is done with the two of you, so they’re focusing their attention on me.”

A silence ensued between the two of them, the brunette looking shocked, the blonde looking angry. Petunia watched in amazement as the blonde picked up her full drink, raised it in the air, then downed the entire thing in one go. She had to keep her mouth from falling open.

Her mind fuzzy, Petunia got Al’s attention and ordered another drink.

She was sufficiently intoxicated by the time the women stood from their booth and made their way towards the door. She pulled out her wallet, quickly counting out the money she owed for the drinks.

“Leaving so soon?” Al questioned with raised eyebrows, his eyes flicking to the door as the witches left.

Petunia gave him a look, tilting her chin down. “Yes,” she answered him firmly.

Al innocently raised his hands. “Alright,” he said in a playful manner. “Your life, your decisions.”

As Petunia watched him, her scowled morphed into a smile. She wanted to tell him that she’d be back, but he seemed to already know. Petunia hopped off her stool, her balance a bit off, but she quickly regained it, grabbing her coat and stepping back out into the rain.

“You forgot your - ” Al tried to call after her, but she was already gone.

“So what do they do? What do they do when someone like me sees magic?”

“Nothing. You know about magic because of me, so they wouldn’t do anything.”

The words were echoing through her head as she stumbled through the rain after the witches. This sudden memory was just as unwanted as the last one, but Petunia couldn’t find the willpower to push it out of her mind.

“You know what I mean. Say I didn’t have a witch for a sister and someone did magic in front of me. What would they do to keep their secret?”

She could almost see the uneasy look that had overtaken her sister’s face after she had said this. In the darkness and rain, she nearly missed it as the witches turned sharply into an alley. Petunia walked slowly to the opening, stopping just short of it, trying her hardest to listen to them.

“They would obliviate you.”

Petunia heard a loud crack and, thinking she missed them, stepped into the alley.

Hands raised, Petunia stood frozen before the blonde woman, her wand drawn and only inches from Petunia’s nose.

“No, please,” she started desperately. “You don’t need to obliviate me. I know all about magic already.”

Narcissa was silent, but slowly, she lowered her wand.

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windsettled · 2 years

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@astralreflections said ; ❝ I don’t think about the past, it’s always there anyway. ❞ / from: 𝐒.𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓.𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

❝ — Ora , Your heart must be so strong then, I don’t know if I would be capable of achieving such a feat myself ! ❞ There was not a hint of mischievousness dripping from his words this time, only a vague yet honest reply came out from the bard as he stared with curiosity at the astrologer, whom by just giving her a quick glance, he could tell that saying those words have submerged her in inmense pride. Ah! If only he could be like her ! then maybe those thousands and thousands of years wouldn’t have felt so heavy on his chest- then maybe ..... slumber wouldn’t have even been an option for him in order to help soothe the red tears that dripped from his heart, product of memories from the past ... He truly couldn’t help but think of how wonderful her power was, to be able to look at the present and future while still being conscious of the past, yet at the same time not feeling weighted by it ... Truth be told, there was really no way to tell whether Mona was saying the truth or not, yet he did not once hesitate to not listen to her, and thus, his heart naturally came to follow in.

❝ — If the past isn't part of your concerns, then what keeps your mind busy, oh-great astrologer? ❞

#astralreflections #teach him ur powers mona !!#deep down he is a walking puddle of sorrows

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rinnelovebot · 2 years

Note

A GOODBYE KISS BUT NEITHER CAN LET GO + NAZUNA ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Melts into a puddle

A/N: hi qiannie !! Nazuna and goodbye kisses go very well together methinks

*ೃ༄ Nazuna Nito + 44: A goodbye kiss, but neither can let go

You watched Nazuna finish packing his suitcase with a sigh, sitting atop your shared bed, hugging your knees.

When you began a relationship with world famous idol Nazuna Nito, you knew exactly what you were getting into—and that meant having to be at peace with the fact that he had to leave you a lot. You were used to it by now, sure, but it didn’t hurt any less whenever you watched him leave, a sad smile on his lips each and every time.

Nazuna zipped his suitcase, standing back up with a huff. “There, all done!” He cheered, smiling widely as he looked up at you. You only sighed once more. Both of you knew that he was just as sad as you had been—if not more—but he always tried to stay composed for your sake.

“I hate it when you have to leave, y’know?” You mumbled, standing up and walking towards him. He looked down at you with that trademark sad smile of his, joining your hands together.

“I know it’s not ideal… But, I won’t be gone for long this time. I promise!” He answered, stroking your knuckles with his thumbs. You could only nod, sighing from deep within your lungs. A sigh was the only response you could formulate—it was much less embarrassing than beginning to cry.

A few minutes later, you both found yourselves in the doorway, Nazuna resting his suitcase against the wall. “Alright, I’ll see you in a week. It’ll go by fast, okay?”

He looked so sad. The kind of sad that could only be brought forth by parting with the person you love most. “I love you.”

“I love you more.” You answered quietly.

The blonde chuckled at that, cupping your cheeks in his hands. His palms were warm against your face, you couldn’t help but lean into his touch.

Both of you leaned forwards, lips meeting for a sorrowful and tender goodbye. Your bodies melted into each other, your arms wrapped tightly around him as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. You couldn’t believe that you’d have to go without his kisses for awhile.

He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. “I love you most.”

With that, you kissed him once again, deeper and more firm this time. He chuckled against your lips, his hand coming to rest upon the back of your head. His lips were so warm, so soft—you really couldn’t get enough of his kisses.

Nazuna really did need to leave—but when you kissed him so passionately like this, he couldn’t help but seek more.

He had a few more minutes to spare, didn’t he?

#qian my scrunkly #marchie scribbles #enstars #ensemble stars #ensemble stars x reader #enstars x reader #nazuna nito #nazuna nito x reader

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emerald-chaos · 3 years

Text

Missed Connections

I’ve had this idea in my brain for a while but it took a very long time to beat it out of there 😂. I’ve wanted to write for Peter since I started writing fics again and this seemed like a good opportunity. I hope you enjoy! 💜

All mistakes are my own.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: explicit language, a lil angsty, a lil fluffy

The ice in your drink slowly shifted as it continued to melt into the brown liquid. Small droplets formed around the base of the glass, each taking a turn to slide down onto the table cloth below. A heavy sigh left your lips as you turned your phone over.

9:00pm

It had been over 2 hours since you had arrived at the restaurant. 2 hours since texting your boyfriend that you would secure the two of you a table since his train was running late. Roughly half an hour of dodging the waitress’ sad looks as she returns to the table to check and see if you needed anything. The last 10 minutes had been debating whether or not you were going to fake a panicked phone call or just gather your things and leave in silent shame.

A buzz from the table ripped you from your sorrows, causing you to dart out and grab your phone. Your thoughts began to run away from you, piecing together what could’ve possibly happened with your missing date.

It had to be Peter. There must have been some kind of crazy power outage in the subway system that caused him to be so late. This was going to be his explanation, an apology, and a promise to meet you at his place.

New Message from MJ 💀.

With a huff you shoved yourself from the table, angrily grabbing your things in a flurry. It was obvious that there were eyes on you, drilling holes into your exterior but you were too pissed off to care. Tears began to burn the rims of your eyes as you stormed out of the restaurant. A small sob escaped your chest as you clasped your hand over your parted lips, squeezing your eyes shut in hopes that you could keep the tears from falling. Thankfully the sidewalks were relatively quiet and there wasn’t anyone to witness you break down.

Perhaps this would’ve been different if it was the first time that Peter cancelled or completely ghosted you for a date he planned, but it wasn’t. No, this would be the 4th date just this month that Peter had flaked on. That doesn’t even include the 3 the month before that, and so on. This was becoming a habit of his.

Cancel date. Apologize profusely, beg for forgiveness. Obtain forgiveness, promise that it won’t happen again. Schedule a new date, an opportunity to make it up to you.

And re-fucking-peat.

You tried to be understanding. Peter had taken on a lot of new responsibilities with his Stark internship and with the two of you entering your second year of college, it was bound to happen that you couldn’t spend every moment together. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that your boyfriend was drifting further from you each day and he didn’t seem to give a damn.

After taking a few moments to gather yourself and wipe the tears from your eyes, you began to make your way back home. It was dark by that point, but it wasn’t like you lived very far from the restaurant you were waiting to meet Peter at. Plus, you’d lived in New York your entire life and felt confident about the walk home.

As you dodged puddles and waited at crosswalks, you wondered where in the hell you went wrong. Was it your fault Pater had started to fade away? Was it you who wasn’t making enough of an effort to keep things up? There didn’t seem to be anything you could have done differently in your mind. You had always texted, tried to make plans, and even showed up at his apartment to surprise him a few times.

You knew deep down in your heart that Peter would never cheat on you. Hell, it took the two of you three years to even make things official because of how socially awkward and nervous he was. There wasn’t a chance in hell he was seeing another girl behind your back. The guy could barely keep your birthday gift a secret. So what was the reason? Was he growing tired of you? Was he wanting to break up?

The familiar sting of tears welling up in your eyes made you sigh angrily. You hated the fact that you were left feeling like this by someone who was supposed to make you feel loved and wanted. Instead, you were climbing the stairs to your apartment building and cursing yourself for being so pathetic.

Once inside, you tossed your things on the counter and washed your hands. The TV had been left on before you left and you could vaguely hear a story being told on the news about a massive crowd of people gathered on the opposite end of town. Drying your hands off, you walked over and turned the TV off and headed to your room.

In hopes of turning your mood around, you tried taking a hot shower and curling up in your bed with your favorite Netflix show playing. However, it did little to help your mood and actually made you miss Peter even more. The two of you used to enjoy picking a show and watching it together - even if he always talked too much and made you rewind all the time. At this point it felt as though the universe just wanted to make sure you felt miserable and stayed miserable. Turning the TV off, you picked up your phone once more. Although you knew Peter hadn’t texted you, there was just a small part of you that had hoped you missed the notification.

Disappointed when you noticed there were no new messages, calls, snapchats, or anything you penned off an angry text to Peter and threw your phone back onto your nightstand. You angrily turned over in bed and pulled the covers up completely over your head. Hot, angry tears stung the rims of your eyes for the second time that night. You wanted more than anything to stop crying over him but your body had other plans. The sobs began to fall from your lips once more as you pulled the covers tighter against you and curled up in a fetal position. Over and over again your brain told you that this was the end of you and Peter, that he no longer loved you and that the love of your life was surely moving on.

* * *

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

Peter swung quickly through the city as he navigated his way toward your place. There were no excuses left in the world that were going to get him out of this one. Sure, honesty was always the best policy, but how exactly was he going to explain to you that he stumbled upon a robbery in progress and he had fight off 3 armed men from beating the cashier to death? That wasn’t going to go over very well.

Whenever he had fully embraced his role as Spider-Man, he had every intention in the world of telling you, but it was like life kept getting in the way. A phone call would come in, someone would pop up and interrupt the conversation, the school bell would ring - the universe wanted Peter to keep his secret, even from you. Thus, you had no idea about that part of his life, the part that continuously dragged him away from you.

It wasn’t easy keeping the secret and every day that passed, his desire to tell you everything only grew. The two of you had been through a lot together - the throes of high school, the death of his Uncle Ben, your mothers illness. There was no one Peter trusted more in this world than you but also no one he loved more, meaning he would do whatever he could to ensure your safety.

The Stark internship was Tony’s idea and it had been a relatively good cover project, but the world unfortunately wasn’t getting any safer meaning Peter was only being dragged away from you more and more often. Tony also had made it a habit of telling him that he thought sharing his alter identity with you was the worst idea he’d ever heard of.

Peter was at an impasse.

Keep his identity from you and lose you forever?

Tell you the truth and risk putting you in harm’s way?

This superhero stuff is a load of bullshit.

* * *

There was a small thwack against your bedroom window that pulled you from your dream. Rubbing your eyes, you sat up and squinted as you looked around the room to find the source of the noise. Suddenly, a tapping noise at your window made you jump.

“Jesus Christ!” You shouted as you zeroed in on the face that had appeared into your field of view.

Peter had come to see you via the fire escape multiple times, but he was the last person you expected to see tonight.

After gathering yourself, you thudded over to the window and opened it. Standing before you was a solemn looking Peter. A pang of guilt rippled through your chest before you quickly shook it off, remembering how horrible you felt only hours ago.

“What are you doing here? Don’t you know what time it is?”

“Look, I know you’re mad —“

You snorted.

“Mad is an understatement, Peter.”

The brunette sighed as his head fell forward along with his shoulders. There was a silence that hung in the air for a moment before he lifted his head to look at you again. Big, brown, doe eyes met yours as soft hairs fell onto his forehead. The stupid prick - you wanted so badly to remain upset but in actuality all you wanted to do was brush the strands of hair out of his face.

“I’m sorry, okay? I-I messed up, I know I did. Just give me a minute to explain??” Peter pleaded, moving closer toward the window and placing his hand on the pane.

“No, Pete. I’ve given you so many opportunities the past couple months. Do you have any idea how you’ve made me feel? How many minutes I’ve wasted on you, hoping that the next ones would be different? I deserve better than this.”

Peter opened his mouth to speak but you raised your hand to silence him.

“I'm not doing this with you. Not now, not anymore.” Both of your hands reached for the rickety window to shut him out, instead knocking into it and causing it to come crashing down.

A shriek escaped your lips, terrified that you had just broken Peter’s hand completely by accident.

But there was no sound.

No screams of pain. No thunk of the window coming into contact with Peter’s hand.

Your head snapped up to meet Peter’s gaze - calm, cool, collected. As though he didn’t just catch the falling window with an insane reaction time.

This time it was Peter who stopped you before you had a chance to speak.

“We need to talk.”

* * *

The sunrise over the city was one you had enjoyed watching with Peter plenty of times before, but never from the position you were in now.

“So…Spider-Man, huh?”

The two of you sat with your legs criss-crossed, facing one another as your knees touched. You hadn’t spoken a word following Peter’s confession until now.

“The Stark Internship is a lie. Well, wait, no, it’s not a lie really but I mean it also is. It’s just that, it’s a cover - you know? For uhm, well…”

“I swear to God Peter if you’re cheating on me just spit it out and let’s get this over with!”

“Whaaa? Cheating on you?! No! I’m not cheating on you, are you…are you serious? I would never cheat on you. I love you.”

“Then what is it, Peter? Please just tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m Spider-Man.”

You stared at him for a moment in complete disbelief. This was his excuse for what he had been putting you through? He was saving women from being robbed and swinging around on webs?

“Let me show you.”

And that was how you ended up where you were now, sat atop the old abandoned church a few blocks from your house. Before you had a chance to call Peter crazy, he wrapped an arm around you and off you went - swinging through the city.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I should’ve. God, you have no idea how much I wanted to tell you. It’s just, I was scared. I don’t want you to ever be in danger because of me.” Peter spoke softly, reaching his hand out to place it over yours as you nervously messed with your shoe laces.

You lifted your gaze to meet his and it was met with that same soft, sad, doe-eyed stare you had gotten before when he came to your window. It was obvious that this has been eating away at him and you couldn’t necessarily blame him for not telling you. You were stuck between wanting to be upset and trying to be understanding.

“I understand if you need time to think about it. To think about us. I just, you deserve better than what I was doing to you. You deserved to know.” Peter began to take his hand from yours.

Quickly your fingers wrapped around his and pulled him into your chest. An oof escaped from Peter’s lips as he was yanked into your chest and wrapped securely in your arms. Dazed for a moment, Peter sat there until he realized you were hugging him. You could feel his body relax in your arms as you gave him a squeeze and held him close.

“I understand why you didn’t tell me. I don’t hate you…I could never hate you. I’m just happy you’re telling me now.”

Peter relaxed further into your chest as he wrapped his own arms around you and held on tight.

The two of you sat like that for a moment before he pulled away to look at you, gently cupping your face with his hand and stroking your cheek.

“I love you. I hope you still know that.” Peter whispered.

“Of course I do.” You whispered back, placing a peck to the inside of his wrist.

After a few more minutes of watching the sunrise, Peter took you back to your place. The two of you kept your fingers interlaced as you walked up the front stoop of your building. As you went to walk up the stairs Peter tugged slightly on your hand, causing you to turn around. As soon as you were facing him, Peter pulled you in and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was soft and slow, two people melting into one.

In that moment, all the anger and heartache that you’d been feeling was fleeting. Every negative emotion was replaced with an intense feeling of love. Slowly pulling away, you took your turn to tug on his hand.

“Come in with me.” You whispered.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. You can tell me all about the Avengers.” You grinned and giggled as he rolled his eyes and groaned.

“I’ve always wanted to know what Captain America was like.”

#peter Parker #Peter Parker fanfic #Peter Parker imagine #Peter Parker fic #Peter Parker x female reader #Peter Parker x you #peter parker x y/n #Tom Holland #Tom Holland character #Peter Parker fanfiction #Peter Parker drabble #spider man #spider man fanfiction #spider man fic

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

Text

The Daughter Of Superman, The Adopted Son Of Batman...What Could Go Wrong? PT. 2

Jason Todd x Kryptonian!Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 2.8K Warnings: Angst

Author's Note: I should really post my other Kryptonian reader story. Enjoy the angst! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

She jerked backwards, eyes widening at the sight of the thick, crimson liquid running down her arm. A shudder ran through her, throat seizing up as she tried to suck in air, her other hand coming up to rub at her arm. Suddenly it was on both hands and she stared at them in horror.

A voice called from below her, pained, but firm. “Superwoman…it’s okay. Don’t—ugh—don’t panic. It’s alright.” The voice was soothing at first, but when she looked down to find its owner, the body next to him took up all she saw, a vicious, gaping hole where his heart used to be.

She peddled backwards, stumbling to the floor, apologies falling from her lips. “I’m sor—I’m so sorry. It was just—he was hurting you and I—I didn’t mean to do this, I swear—”

The boy reached out to her but grunted in pain, hand dropping to hold his side. “(Y/N)—”

Her eyes met his once more, and he could see the tears swimming in her gaze as she whispered, “I’m sorry.” She shot from the ground, disappearing in the sky in a blur of red and blue.

He reached for her calling out, “(Y/N)!” He lost sight of her as quickly as she left, and the other two ran up to him.

“Tim!” The taller boy stopped, looking down at the corpse next to him, jaw dropping in shock. “…Oh my god. Wh—what happened?” He looked at the other. “Tim?”

He shook his head, eyes meeting the shorter one. “Bart, I need you to get to Central and find Wally and Dick and tell them to get to the cave.” Bart nodded and spun, taking off in a flash of yellow lightning.

The other boy knelt, picking him up off the ground. “Tim, what happened?”

He groaned, hand moving to hold his side once more. “(Y/N) killed him on accident.” Tim looked at him. “Conner, I can get back to the tower on my own, but I need someone to get to Jason.” He sucked in a breath, reaching up and wiping the blood from his nose though it still bled despite him. “Kori and Roy will probably be with him, but right now, we need everyone who can search.”

Conner nodded, steadying Tim on his feet before rising from the ground; he looked down at him. “Do you know where she went?”

Tim shook his head, grimace crossing his lips as he muttered, “I don’t think we’re gonna find her for a long time.” He glanced up at Conner. “Go. Now.” The boy nodded, flying off, and Tim took a few steps forward before stumbling into a wall. He heaved a sigh, picking up his transmitter from his belt.

He pushed a button, and a few seconds later, a voice came over the line. What’s going on?

Tim frowned and asked, “What’s your E.T.A. to earth?”

Eighteen hours. What happened?

Tim glanced back at the body, the puddle of blood seeming to consume it. “It was (Y/N). She… she killed someone.”

The voice on the line was silent, then it said, Superman is on his way. Call me when he gets there.

The line went dead, and Tim sighed, sliding down the wall. He lent his head back, eyes staring up at the sky, waiting for (Y/N)’s father.

***Later In The Cave***

The group stood in silence, faces molded in a mixture of shock and pain. Tim yelped as Alfred pushed on his side. “Ow shi—Alfred!”

The man hummed, wrapping the cloth around his side. “Apologies, Master Tim.” He tucked an ice-pack between the layers. “With the broken ribs you’ve got, it would be best to keep ice close. I also advise against any harsh movements.”

Tim nodded, gaze turning to the man beside his oldest brother. “Clark.”

The man looked up from the ground, voice stricken as he lamented, “I can’t hear her. She’s…completely silent…” his eyes held a deep and sorrowed pain. “I can’t hear my baby girl.”

The others listened, then Jason stepped forward, expression grim and solemn. “Tim, what exactly happened in San Francisco today?”

The boy looked over at him before dropping his gaze to the ground, sighing, “What didn’t happen out there, Jason?”

Tim shook his head, clearing his throat. “It was a routine mission, patrol the area before getting back to the tower, but Bart called and said that he saw what looked to be a meta-human going on a rampage. We all met up and started fighting, and while it took some time, we managed to get him to an abandoned warehouse complex. Turns out, he not only had super strength, but he could also make copies of himself, and when I figured out that the original was susceptible to damage while he had copies, I sent Conner, Bart, and (Y/N) to fight the copies while I found him.”

He paused, picking at his nails. “What I didn’t expect was for him to throw me into a forklift and break three of my ribs. I tried to get up, but before I could move, his hands were around my throat, and he was lifting me up off the ground.” He absentmindedly reached up, fingers brushing the purple hand-prints around his pale neck. “Everything was happening so fast, and I couldn’t get my bearings in time. My vision started to get dark, and I could hear (Y/N) shouting from behind, and the next thing I knew, I was being dropped again. When I could see and breath clearly again, I looked up, and I saw (Y/N)…I saw her…”

A hand rested on his shoulder, and he glanced up, seeing Conner nodding firmly at him. He let out a breath and said, “And I saw (Y/N) standing there, and the meta-human lying in a pool of his own blood and he had…he had a hole through his chest.”

Quiet gasps were heard around the cave, and Tim looked up at Clark. “It was just an accident Clark, she didn’t mean to do it. She was trying to save me.” The man didn’t look at him, eyes glued to the floor as he swallowed thickly, obviously thinking about what he was just told.

Jason stepped up to Tim. “Do you know where she went?”

Tim shook his head. “No, she took off before I could stop her.”

“So, you’re pretty much saying that she could be anywhere.” Everyone turned their head at the sound of Dick’s voice.

Tim nodded. “That’s why I called everyone here. We need help trying to find her.”

Dick turned to Wally. “You and Bart comb Central.” The two took off, and Dick turned to Kori. “You should take Roy and go check around hideouts the Outlaws frequent.” Kori and Roy made their way to the stairs. “Tim, you sit out and monitor everything. Conner, you can help me and Jason check Gotham. Clark…”

Dick walked over and resting a hand on his arm. “You should go home and tell Lois about what’s happened, then check Metropolis.” Clark nodded, but made no move to go, and Dick squeezed his arm gently. “Clark.” He looked at Dick. “We will find her, I promise.”

Clark nodded again, this time finding his feet; he paused as he reached them and turned to Jason. “Jason?” He turned, waiting for Clark to continue. “I don’t really have any doubt that you’ll be the one to find her tonight…” His voice soft as he asked, “But when you do, will you tell her that I’m not angry at her?” Jason nodded, and they watched Clark leave.

Dick faced them, tone quiet. “Conner, you and I can take North and East Gotham, Jason, you should take South and West.”

They nodded at his words, each moving to the exit. Tim’s voice reached them before they could leave. “Jason! Can you wait for a minute?”

Jason nodded at the others, watching them leave before moving back to Tim. “What’s up?”

Tim hung his head and whispered, “It’s my fault, Jason. I should’ve been more vigilant when I was fighting. If I had gotten up sooner, none of this would’ve happened. I’m sorry—”

A hand rested on his shoulder and he looked up; Jason stared at him seriously. “Tim, it wasn’t your fault. And it wasn’t (Y/N)’s either.” He squeezed Tim’s shoulder gently. “Okay?” Tim nodded and Jason let go, though he saw the tears in Tim’s eyes.

***

Jason crouched atop the ledge staring down at the city, a frown crossing his lips. He didn’t bother to look up at the sound of someone’s boots hitting the rooftop, or when they stopped beside him. “Have you found her?”

He snorted, eyes following a car on the busy road. “Do you honestly think I’d be up here if I had?” He glanced up, seeing Dick slightly grinning at him.

Dick lowered himself on the ledge until he sat next to Jason, legs hanging freely off the edge. The two of them simply stared out at the streets, observing the cars carrying their passengers’ home.

After a few moments, Dick asked, “Where do you think she is?”

He watched Jason shrug and murmur, “I have no idea…I’ve searched everywhere that has any kind of meaning to us and I still can’t find her.” He looked at Dick, eyes filled with trepidation. “I’m worried about her, Dick…she’s all alone out there, thinking about what’s happened, and it’s eating me up.” He shook his head, letting out a sigh. “I shouldn’t have left San Francisco earlier. I should’ve stayed.”

Dick’s eyebrows shot up at his words. “Wait, you were in San Fran earlier today?”

Jason nodded. “Spent the night with her but left in the morning.” He thumped the heel of his armored boot against the wall. “I could’ve stopped that meta and she wouldn’t have done anything.”

“You’re really torn up about her killing someone, Jason.”

Jason turned to Dick, shouting. “Of course I am!” He placed a hand against his chest. “I kill bad people because they’re evil and they deserve it. I wouldn’t want (Y/N) or any of the people I care about to follow the path that I do.” He paused, voice lowering. “(Y/N) is…a good person. She’s kind and caring and she loves everyone with everything she has. She protects those that are innocent and protects those she loves even more fiercely.”

He sighed heavily, his voice lowering to a whisper. “I’d never want her to have to think about the people she kills like I do.”

“You’re telling me you actually think about the people you kill?”

Jason let out a mirthless laugh, his gaze returning to the city. “Contrary to popular belief and what you see when you look at me, I am not a heartless killer, Dick. I know the consequences of my actions, and believe me, I think about them every moment I’m alive.” He stood and looked down at his brother. “I’m going to hit my apartment and take a nap before getting back out there.”

Dick nodded, observing him as he started climbing down the ledge; he called out to Jason. “She’s really changed you in the year you’ve been together.”

Jason snorted, “Don’t tell anyone, I’ve got a reputation to keep.” He paused, hand gripping the ledge as he replied, “ But yeah she has… and only in the best ways, Dickhead.”

“Hey!”

***

The apartment was quiet, just as he’d left it the day before, and he shucked his helmet and jacket off, placing them on the table. He bent over, undoing the laces from his boots, kicking them off before reaching up and pulling his domino mask off, raising a hand to rub the fatigue from his eyes. It was a futile attempt to delay the inevitable, and as he made his way to his room, he mentally took note of how long he needed to sleep before getting back in the field to look for her.

As he walked through the hallway, a quick intake of air sounded through the apartment, and Jason reached to his hip, pulling a pistol. He stepped carefully through the hall, checking the rooms before he came up to his bedroom. Sucking in a quiet breath, he stepped into the room, gun following his gaze as it landed on a huddled mass beside the window.

He walked silently over to it, and upon closer inspection, his eyes widened, voice laced with disbelief as he questioned, “(Y/N)?”

She raised her head, eyes red rimmed and bloodshot. “Jason?” she whispered, unsure of herself.

He lowered the gun, placing it on the nightstand before moving to her, hands grasping her upper arms. “(Y/N), we’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He shook his head. “Why didn’t you call one of us and tell us where you were?” She didn’t respond to him, simply looking down. Jason let go of one of her arms, gently cupping her cheek. “Doll?”

He felt something wet drip onto his hand, and finally, she sat up straight and stared at him. The blanket she’d been covered with fell away, and his gaze dropped to her arms. His eyes widened at the sight of the faint red smeared across her arm. “(Y/N),” He breathed.

“I kept scrubbing and scrubbing, but no matter how hard or how much I did, it wouldn’t come off.” The tears were rolling down her cheeks now, and she lowered her head. “I didn’t mean to do it Jason. I just…”

Jason reached for her, pulling her into his arms and hoisting her up. He reclined against the headboard, arms wound tightly around her. “Shh…it’s alright…”

“I killed him, Jason.” (Y/N) pulled back enough to look him in the eyes. “I kept yelling for him to let Tim go, but he wouldn’t. I could hear Tim’s heartbeat fading and I just reacted.” She gazed at her arm. “I put my arm through his chest, Jason!” (Y/N) stared at her arm as if it didn’t belong to her body, an alienated limb, then she felt herself being lifted again. “Jason what—”

He said nothing, maneuvering her into the bathroom where he sat her on the sink. She watched as he pulled a rag from the cabinet and reached below the sink for a bottle. He poured the solution into the rag, then gently took her arm, wiping it. His gaze was unreadable, but it was anything but hard; in fact, it was soft, and before she knew it, the remaining blood had been wiped away.

Jason threw the towel into the hamper and turned back to her, cradling her face in his hands. “It’s all gone, (Y/N)…it’s not there anymore.” Her eyes lowered to her arm before they rose back to his, and he pressed his forehead against hers. “You don’t have to think about this anymore, doll.”

“I killed him though, Jason.”

She felt him shake his head and he asked, “What would’ve happened if you hadn’t?” She went silent, and Jason asked again, “(Y/N), what would’ve happened to Tim if you hadn’t protected him?”

Clearing her throat, she whispered, “He would’ve died.”

“No, he would’ve been murdered.” Jason looked in her eyes. “(Y/N),you saved Tim’s life.”

“At the expense of another’s.”

Jason let out a sigh and nodded. “Sometimes that’s the only way…but (Y/N)?” She looked at him and he insisted clearly, “What you did today…does not make you a killer, and it doesn’t make you a murderer…do you understand that?”

(Y/N) blinked at him before looking away and muttering, “…You should call everyone and tell them where I am.”

Jason reached down and picked her up from the sink, flicking off the light and moving to the bed. He lowered her down before crawling under the covers beside her, pulling her to him and raising the covers to their chins.

“I’ll call later.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Right now, the only thing that matters is you.” (Y/N) bit her lip to keep from crying, and a moment later, Jason quipped, “Remember that time that you threw me out of a third story window?”

(Y/N) let out a watery laugh, burying her face in his chest. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you, Jason?”

She glanced up at him, and he leaned down, pecking her nose. “If I keep getting a reaction out of it, probably not.”

(Y/N) searched his eyes for a moment then whispered, “I love you, Jason.”

He nodded, pressing his lips to hers. “I love you too, (Y/N).” He curled his arms around her, caging her to his chest. “Get some sleep…I’ll be here when you wake up.”

She did as he said, tucking her head under his chin. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart, doll.”

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